Orca
by Jonas Grant
Summary: <html><head></head>Orca Team, usually shortened as Orca, is a six member fireteam of what was believed to be sub-par Spartan recruits, considered either too mentally unstable or physically inferior to complete training, but who turned out to work quite well together... Written when I was learning English, jump to Chapter 3 to see my current abilities. Enjoy!</html>
1. Orca Team

**A/N: Rewritten! First five chapters fused in one.**

**Chapter 1: Orca Team**

* * *

><p>Smells like bacon, burnt human flesh.<p>

As I stare at the smoking car, parked in front of my house, the smell is the only thing my brain notices.

An image, a voice… Just flashes… Fear.

Mum sent me to get Nima's safety blanket. I got the blanket on my shoulder right now. It's pink. It used to be white, but mummy washed it with a pair of socks and the color jumped on the blanket.

There are strange burnt trees in the car, they look like people. One of them is holding the wheel and the other is looking at something, at a much smaller burnt log on the back seat.

What is going on? Where are my parents? Why are they hiding?

A mean voice in my head answers:

_This is mum and dad's car, they are dead._

How can they be dead? They were waiting for me to come back, they told me to go get the blanket! Did I take too long? Why are they dead!

There is something in the sky… Bugs, giant bugs spitting blue lava everywhere.

The Covenant. That's what my parents were so afraid of; the Covenants found us!

At school, we played Harvest, the king of the hill, where some pretended to be humans, other covenants attacking the planet, the hill.

I always win. I'm not the biggest, nor the fastest, but I keep coming back until the others don't want to play anymore. Never give up. Dad says it's a family thing, we never give up…

_"Life's hard, son,_" Dad told me this morning, _"sometimes, things look hopeless, but they're not, they never are, unless you give up, you will always find a way."_

Why am I thinking about that? I need to run away! The covenants will burn the planet, I need to leave!

But leave where? How!

I sit on the grass and hug my knees. I'd like to cry, but that would be giving up, if I give up, things will get hopeless, so I just sit there and wait.

And wait.

And wait…

**-[August 2544]-**

**-[Slip-space]-**

**-[****_Phoenix_****-Class Colony ship ****_Boris Velkiev]-_**

**-[Medical Bay 7]-**

"Christopher? Are you okay?" My name isn't Christopher.

I look up at the nurse, then back out the window. There are stars, more than I can count, some of them are pink, other green… Looks like someone spilled multicolored sand on fresh asphalt.

We are in space. I don't remember how I got here, but I know it was terrifying, and I've been here for a long time, much of which is blurry, like a dream.

Some details come back as I look at the nurse again.

Her name is Carol. She is the only grown up here who likes me. The others don't like that I'm here, they would prefer if I had died with my family. They're soldiers, mostly, no other kids, no parents, no normal peoples. Why am I here anyway?

"Where's my mum?" I whine, hoping to get a different answer than I did last time. Perhaps it was a bad dream too…

Carol sighs. Not a dream. I lean back in my bed and look at the ceiling.

She won't let me leave the room, I was bad the last time they let me out. They took Nima's blanket… Mum will be disappointed, Nima will be cold...

Once again, I want to cry, but tears don't come, so I just shrug.

I loved my family, I miss them, but they are gone, crying will not bring them back. Crying would be like giving up.

Plus, only babies cry.

"Who will I live with now?"

She has a very sad look. Why does it make her sad? I'm not crying, she should be glad!

"I told about you to some friends, they will be meeting you as soon as we reach Earth."

"Who are they?"

She hesitates, "They are good peoples."

She doesn't believe it, even I see that. Why is she lying?

"Now, young man," she begins, checking the bag at the other end of the tube in my arm, "Time to sleep." She put a needle in the tube and I feel very sleepy, all of a sudden. Everything blurs again.

Yeah, I could use some sleep.

Maybe I will forget if I sleep long enough. I wouldn't be so sad then…

000000000

**-[November 2544]-**

**-[Earth's Orbit]-**

**-[****_Phoenix_****-Class Colony ship ****_Boris Velkiev]-_**

**-[Medical Bay 7]-**

Someone shines a light in my eyes. I try to roll away and end up falling off whatever I was on and landing on my face.

The taste of blood feels familiar now, almost reassuring, but it feels like my brain is trying to force its way through my ears…

Ow, basically.

I feel no need to cry. Who would care? My family is dead.

I get up and spit the blood out. I bit my tongue.

"Well, I suppose he fits the bill." Someone laughs.

The room I'm in is familiar; it's the space ship's infirmary I fell asleep in, but there are other people here , grown ups, six of them, dressed in white. Their eyes are dark, their faces hard, mean.

One of them, an old man, leans next to me.

"Hello, Chris, I am Doctor Patterson, I am here to evaluate you."

"Are you my new family?" I hope he says no, he's creepy.

He picks me up and puts me back on the bed like I weight nothing. He could throw me across the room if he wanted and no one in the room would keep him. They all look bad, angry like anger is the one thing they feel… The room is cold, but not that much. I shiver anyway.

"No, we're doctors, we're here to see if you are healthy."

I wipe some blood from my mouth and shrug. I meant that to look calm, but the shaking made it look awkward.

"What should I do?"

He smiles and nods to the others. They look at me like mum used to look at the bugs I caught and bottled. Not disgusted, but like they really aren't worth her time.

Well, they're not the ones who spend the next half hour being poked, prodded, scanned and stabbed by dozens of machines so far ahead of the curve you couldn't see them with the fuckin' hubble. Dad used to say that about Covenant technology.

The grown ups exchange words like 'Muscular mass', 'Nervous Pathway' and 'Genetic Compatibility' before looking at a lot of scrolling text on a giant projection on the wall.

It's about me, but I only catch bits of it, the bits that use simple words.

They talk about the time I spent home, alone while the Covenant burned everything.

"Three years…" One speaks, almost impressed, "You memory wiped him? Why?"

Carole speaks from a dark corner, "To reduce stress and mental instabilities, he was practically feral when we found him."

Doctor Patterson speaks, but looks straight at me, "Do you have any idea what we will do to this boy, Commander?"

Carole sounds cold, different from when I met her, "Of course; you want him aggressive, not straight up psychotic."

"That bad?"

"He survived three years alone in a contested warzone, the things he had do and witness would break even the most hardened of your toy soldiers."

Another, an old woman, points to a line of text, "Multiple plasma injuries? How is that possible?"

Once again, Carole answers, "Indirect hits, I suppose, some of the burns should have been fatal but healed up nicely enough. We fixed the worst of it, he'll retain some sequels, but nothing crippling."

The old man, Patterson, turns to me then, forcing a smile.

"Enough dancing around the issue, he's fit… Chris, I have a question for you."

He looks nervous and excited, like my father when he is… Was about to give me my birthday present.

"What is it?" I ask when I realize he is waiting for an answer.

"Have you ever heard of SPARTANs?"

00000000

**-[November 2544]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Gymnasium]-**

The room is huge; almost twice as high as my house and five times larger. It's empty too.

The door closes behind me with a very loud bang that echoes twice in the empty room.

There is absolutely nothing in here, no chairs, no table, nobody. The colored stripes on the floor remind me of the school's gym, but there are no windows here, no lights but tiny ones on the walls…

I'm alone in a large, dark, cold, creepy room.

My face starts burning; the scar on my back as well, though my nose, ears and backbone seem to flash-freeze.

Keeping my eyes on the shadows, I slowly back toward the door. Noises replace the deep silence; explosions, laughter, aliens speaking, barking… It's coming from the darkness… They're getting closer!

_No, they're not. You are panicking._

I glance around and, of course, the room is still empty. I carefully step out of the light and into the darkness. It's nowhere near dark enough to hide me, let alone giant aliens.

How am I ever going to be a SPARTAN if I'm afraid of the dark? I mean, when they send me to kill covenants I'll just run away the moment someone flick off the light!

I should never have said yes, I'm not strong, I'm not smart, I'm not brave… What am I doing here? There has been a mistake for sure, Spartans are exceptional people, warriors, and I'm just… Me! Any time now someone is going to come in and tell me there has been a mistake, that I will be sent back to school or something.

Behind me the door opens.

Here they come…

I turn around and see only another kid, around my age. He too had his head shaved and is wearing a gray jumpsuit with a name and number on the front.

Trevor-G186.

Mine says Chris-G051.

I wave and he waves back. Only then do I realize I have walked away from the door. I'm almost at the center of the room now.

After some hesitation, he runs up to where I am standing.

"Hey," He extends his hand, "I is Trevor!" He speaks with a funny accent. I immediately like him; Trevor is the kind of person you just know you can trust, mostly because he's not clever enough to fake being your friend, and also because he has enough brains not to be tricked.

"I'm Chris." I answer, shaking his hand. I hope he doesn't notice how shaky and damp mine is…

Trevor is a good head taller than me and his arms are twice as big, so despite being friendly, he does not really make me feel any better about being here…

"You is going be SPARTAN too?" He pipes, happily.

I just nod.

"Aha, it great!" He looks around and his smile disappears. "Where everyone else is?"

"I don't know, maybe…"

The door opens again, this time it's a dark skinned girl, dressed in gray and shaved too, she looks very serious, although not exactly mean.

I wave and Trevor greets her by saying something like 'welcome in the Spartans wannabe club'. He speaks Russian, I understand the general sense of the sentence, but the girl actually answers him.

She says she's not a wannabe anything; She's going to be a Spartan.

I check her name tag; Iona-G117.

Iona sits on the floor next to us without saying anything else and I do the same. I like her too, she makes me feel calm, almost like my mum did.

A few minutes later, just as Trevor gets bored of poking around the room, the door opens again, letting in another girl, this one with almond shaped eyes. My father said they were called… Japs, I think.

Anyway, she's almost as tall as Trevor and doesn't look especially friendly.

Fal-G317.

At first, she leans on the wall, next to the door, clearly not looking for friends, but Trevor convinces her to sit with us, speaking in an accented English again…

Not sure how he managed that nor that I exactly like it…

As she moves closer, I can see Fal has a bright pink scar on the left cheek, extending like a grin. She notices me staring and snickers.

"Gift from my dad." She drops on her butt just next to me.

Next one to come in is a pale boy with blue eyes so bright I can see them from here.

His smile is as white as his hairs and those tiny blue dots dart around, taking in everything with enthusiasm.

"Oi! I was promised cookies, where are they? I demand cookies!"

Trevor, Iona, Fal and I exchange a puzzled glance.

"Aaahh-I'm just kidding." He finally explains, awkwardly.

He's not comfortable with being here either. Good to see I'm not alone.

His tag almost makes me laugh, though; Bob-123.

Not exactly Spartanish.

Bob cracks a few more jokes before the door opens, making him jump in fright.

The kid on the other side jumps too and starts yelling at Bob in some kind of gibberish like you can hear in Mexican restaurants.

I'm not quite sure if it's a boy or a girl and the name tag, Abejundio-G225, doesn't really help.

Finally s/he calms down and looks at us.

"Por que you all sitting there cabrones? Que pasa? I thought we were going to become soldier aki." She spurts while stomping in the room, flailing her arms around like whips.

Fal expresses our thought pretty well.

"What the _fuck_ did it just say?"

Despite the swear word she uses, she doesn't really sounds mad, just confused. My English teacher warned us not to use expletives as punctuation, only now do I understand what she meant.

Iona talks, and it's in that same gibberish Abju… Abe was speaking when the door opened. That seems to calm the newcomer down as s/he stops stomping around and takes a deep breath.

Abe then turns to Bob.

"Never scare me like that again, hombre, or I'll tear off your gohones."

"What's gohones?"

"Your balls." I explain. Hell even I understood that much.

He cringes and protectively covers his crotch.

"Sorry, mate."

That triggers a new outburst and, once again, Iona solves it with a few words.

"She's a girl." Iona calmly puts in after Abe sits next to Trevor and in front of me.

She chats with Iona for a few minutes, earning a word for every seventy she says, before giving up and turning to me.

"How about you?"

"How about me?"

"Who are you?"

"Chris." She facepalms.

"Ah puta madre, nevermind."

The door opens again and a military man in a gray uniform walks in. He looks old, but young at the same time, like a teenager…

"Attention!" He barks, making us all jump in fright.

We look at each other for just a second and Iona tells us to form a line and stand straight. We're all up and straight as sticks anyway…

We do it in almost five seconds the man smiles.

"Well would you look at that… Recruit G11…" He freezes at the last number and strolls up to Iona, reaching her in five steps. The man inspects her and she twitches, but doesn't flinch, like glass cracking but never breaking.

"Some footsteps your following, recruit." He declares after ten seconds.

Iona doesn't miss a beat and barks "I know, sir!"

"How do you know military protocols, recruit?"

"TV, sir!" What kind of TV do these kids watch?

The man's severe face cracks a bit in what seems to be a smile.

"Well, that was… Unexpectedly obvious. Well, now, I am Petty Officer Second Class Curtis, I am in charge of your team for the first part of training, which will begin… Now. Is anyone not ready for this?"

No answer.

"Good, then, let's get started!"

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Gamma Company<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>0000000<strong>

I push myself off the floor again, my arms burning, then drop back down until my nose touches the puddle of sweat, then I push again. This time, my arms are actually shaking.

To my right, Fal is snapping push ups like a machine. In the time I take to do one, she does three.

I really shouldn't be here.

I observe Fal a bit more. She inhales on her way down and exhale when going up… I place my arm just like hers and try to copy the motion.

Up, breathe, down, release.

Up, breathe, down, release.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

The pain in my arms and shoulders doesn't go away, but I am too busy breathing to notice it. I am almost in trance with only the numbers 'One, two, three, four,' and just as I think I am going to collapse, Curtis tells us to stop. As he does, I just fall face first on the floor, surrounded by a pool of my own sweat.

Did you know your lower back sweated too? I didn't.

I hear the others do pretty much the same with varying degrees of dignity.

"Well, that's a start!" Curtis gets off the floor –he did just as many push ups as us, never broke a sweat- and lie down on his back, "Now, on your backs and lift those legs up! Come on! One, two!"

I roll out of my sweat, but it takes just a few seconds for the floor to get soaked again.

Why am I here? My arms hurt, I'm hungry, I'm scared… I want to go home…

_You don't have a home anymore. Covenants took it from you. War is your home now and here you'll learn how to master it. They'll show you how to make the Covenants pay._

I lift my legs off the floor once, twice… The third time takes some efforts, the fourth is shaky, the fifth is painful and I have no idea how I'll be able to do another one, but Curtis is telling me to, so I do. And another one. And another…

I don't know how many I do, but I'm pretty sure I tore something in my waist. Damn it that hurts!

_Pain is good. Makes you stronger. Tells you you're still alive._

"Not too shabby, recruits, but it still SUCKED! Form two rows of three behind me and check your laces! We're going for a little stroll outside the base. No straggler or you'll all have to start over!"

We all get in place quickly, but Iona brings a few quick changes; she puts Trevor and Fal up front, Abe and Bob in the middle and she and I are in the back.

Curtis seems impressed by that, for some reason, but that only lasts a second. I must be the only one to catch it before his face hardens again.

He shows us a few stretches and exercises to do once we stop running and laces up his boots tighter.

I do the same and the others quickly follow.

"Alright, nuggets, forward!" The instructor barks before breaking into a jog that is closer to a sprint for us.

As we leave the huge room, I ask Iona why she placed us like that and she says something about bird flight.

Although having her around is a big relief, that girl gives me the creeps sometimes.

We run through a few empty hallways before finally leaving the building.

I take a few seconds to observe my surroundings.

Horseshoe shaped military structure with dirt roads and peoples shooting somewhere to the left. A sign reads 'Camp Currahee'.

We soon leave the camp, following a path barely large enough for me and Iona to stand side by side. As we enter a thick forest, things don't exactly get better.

Trevor and Fal just give up trying to stay on track and are getting whipped by branches as they run half on the path, half in the forest.

Iona pokes me and nod toward Fal; I nod back and poke Bob in the ribs.

"Huh?" He breathes, looking over his shoulder.

I lift my palm and wave it like someone trying to tell a dog to sit. He takes just a second to understand and nods before slowing his pace a bit.

I need to run through the forest to take his place, but it only lasts a second and Curtis doesn't notice. My lungs do, however, notice the sudden effort, since they start burning and feeling like I was breathing ashes through a straw.

I tap Fal's shoulder and she seems about to punch me for it when I jerk my thumb over my shoulder.

She doesn't get it.

I do the same motion as with Bob, but she still gives me a 'bambi in front of a truck' look.

I guess she's too busy avoiding branches to decode hand signals.

I step aside, running into the branches and she understands just as I get whipped in the forehead by a stick the side of my arm, the one she bumped into a second ago.

Blood drips on my nose, but I keep running and Fal gives me her place next to Trevor, who can finally run somewhat on the path.

"Thanks… b…bro." he sigh, still trying to catch his breath.

Can't say I blame him, my legs are burning too! Running in the soft dirt and through the branches put some strain on me… I try to control my breath, like I did with the push ups, and soon begin muttering "One, Two, Three, Four. One, Two, Three, Four." To pace myself.

Before long, the whole team is humming a four beat tune.

Just like I did, they focus only on the beat; breathing and running on it. For a few seconds, it sounds like a religious chant.

Bob, of course, feels the need to add some lyrics:

"Things hit da shitter.

You're nice an' screwed.

Don't lose yah mood.

Take a breather.

Throw yah hands innnyair.

And run like a hare!"

Trevor openly laughs, Fal snickers, Abe mutters something in her tongue that sounds interestingly close to 'stupid idiot' and I try not to laugh, which is hard when you are out of breath and trying to run straight on a dirt path. In the end, I make a pretty weird choking sound that earns me a frown from Trevor.

"'sup? You ate a fly?"

"Trying… to… breathe." I wheeze.

"Sounds hard."

"Recruits," Curtis barks, "Seriously, shut up!"

Iona barks a "Yes, sir!" and we quickly imitate her.

Despite his severe tone, I'm pretty sure I see a smile on the officer's face… But then, I'm three feet behind him and everything is getting blurred, so I might be seeing things.

We resume humming as Curtis leads us around the forest, suddenly stepping off the path and bringing us in a small, very cold stream.

My boots _Squish-squash_ for the rest of the run and I can't feel the tip of my toes by the time we return to the camp. Note to self; when you breathe vapor from your nose but don't feel cold, you're not turning into a dragon, you're just too busy running to notice it's cold… _Don't step in water thinking it'll freshen you up._

Surprise almost makes me trip on my own feet. Then again, exhaustion might be a part of the problem; every time I put my weight on a leg, it wobbles and threatens to just give under me.

But return to camp we do, and I never thought it was possible to be so tired.

Good thing is; it doesn't hurt anymore.

There has to be hundreds of kids slouched on the gravel courtyard, nestled between the horseshoe's arms, and more are coming out from the woods around us, running behind an instructor as well.

"Seems like there is more than just six of us." I point out.

Of course, I earn a "No shit?" from Fal.

Once we reach the courtyard and the rest of the recruits, Curtis tells us to rest here and he'll be back with some water.

Every kid around is just as soaked and tired as us, some are crying and others still struggle to catch their breath. A few vomit and some of these actually cry because of it.

My lungs do burn too and I'm having a few fits of cough, but nothing this bad.

Not sure if my knees just gave in or I mean to fall down, but her, it's as nice a spot as any other! I wipe some blood from my brow. It's mixed with sweat, so it leaves an orange-brown stain on my sleeve.

The others get down next to me, with Iona and Fal sitting Indian style and the others just slumping down on their back.

Even Bob is too tired to say anything.

Someone taps my shoulder and I look up.

It's a severe looking man with dark eyes and gray hairs. Despite looking somewhat old, he seems strong enough to strangle Curtis with one hand.

"You hurt, recruit?"

I shake my head, "J…just a… a scratch, s-sir." Well, the stuttering sure didn't help with the whole 'future super-soldier' feeling I tried to give.

"I can almost see bones trough your scratch, trainee, get it fixed as soon as we're done here." He points to a door with a red cross next to it, to my left, and I nod, cheeks burning from being the only one hurt enough to be scolded about it.

He then stand up straight and introduces himself, somehow managing to be heard over all the noise the other kids are making.

"I am Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez, I am the one tasked with turning you into Spartans! You already met your teams' instructors; follow what they say and your training will go smoothly, cause trouble and you will earn trouble for your whole team!

If anything goes wrong, you have a question or want to shoot one of your comrades, you come to me or Lieutenant Commander Ambrose, if you want to quit… Well, you can't, so suck it up, Spartans!" He seems about to leave, but stops and adds, "By the way, welcome to camp Currahee."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: Hide and Seek<strong>

* * *

><p>I step in the infirmary and look around.<p>

Nobody.

Three knocks on the doorframe later, someone tells me to come in.

"Uh… I'm already in."

"Oh! Splendid! Well, then, take a seat!"

There are a few ridiculously high beds with paper covering them, like at the doctor's office, so I jump on one…

The paper tears and slips under me. I end up crashing on the floor with a 'crash-rip' sound. Well that sure feels familiar…

Up until now, I had forgotten about my burns, but the crash just sent waves of pain clean across my chest, reminding me of the star-shaped mark on my back.

The nurse, a young woman with bright red hairs, pokes her head out of an office, to the right and gives me a surprised look before smiling, a genuine smile, not like the men who examined me when I woke up.

"Hey, now! No leaving my infirmary with more holes that you came in with!"

"I'm trying."

She walks up to me and give me a boost to the examination table.

With all that 'Wannabe Spartan' stuff, I forgot I weighted less than a sack of potatoes…

"So," She begins, checking my cut, "What'd you do? Wrestle a tree?"

"Pretty much."

"Don't tell me, the tree won?"

"Don't think it ever even knew it was attacked…"

She chuckles and grabs a cloth from a nearby table, soaking it with something from a silver bottle.

"This might sting a little… Or it might cause horrible, agonizing pain to shoot trough your body, you never know."

I think she's insane.

The insane hospital lady rubs the cloth on my cut and it does sting a bit. When it comes close to my nose, I notice the thing smells very strong, like paint thinner…

"Eeesh…" She mutters under her breath, after prodding my face for a few seconds, "We'll have to cicatrize that or it might get infected... Don't worry, it'll only take minute, then you can go back to playing soldier with your friends."

Playing soldier? If she says so.

She puts a tray on the table and turn around, looking for something.

I notice one of those very sharp blades used in surgeries -A Scalpel, I think it's called- in the tray.

There's five of them, actually, thrown on it at random and packed in airtight bags, barely longer than my hand.

I snatch one and hide it in my boot. It came by itself, just a reflex from… Home? Perhaps, sharp objects fascinate me since I woke up and sometimes I do odd things, like squeeze myself under the bed at night or covering my plate whenever someone comes close, as if I'm afraid they'll steal my food.

Why? Three years, they said. I'm not stupid, I know they made me forget that time, but my body remembers and it tells me to do things sometimes.

Crazy lady grabs a weird screwdriver-like thing and gives me the same warning as last time, but the other way around;

"This'll hurt a lot… Or it might just sting a little; hey, I'm no doctor!"

I feel like there are spiders crawling around on my forehead. Not. Pleasant.

"You're not a doctor?"

"I'm a nurse."

"What's the difference?"

"I work for a living… There! All done… Wait, what's that on your shoulder?"

Before I can answer, the woman pushes my jumpsuit's collar out of the way.

"Ow… Plasma burns? Already? Heck, you're, like, the first Spartan I met who got shot at _before_ being a Spartan… Anyway," She picks me up and set me on the floor, "Off you go, Mendez'll have my ass if he thinks I'm keeping you here without reason!"

Before I can answer, she pushes me all the way out the door and closes it behind me.

After a few seconds of hesitation, I jog back to the others, who are sitting in a circle and drinking from green plastic bottles. Water… Damn I'm thirsty!

In the sky, the sun is shining very hard, harder than back home. It hurts my skin a bit.

Just as I sit between Trevor and Fal, Bob tosses me a bottle.

"Here's yours."

It hits me in the forehead and falls on my lap.

"Careful! I just got that fixed!" I whine, earning a few laughs.

"So, how's the infirmary?" Abe asks, between two sips.

"Don't EVER get hurt." I advise before unscrewing my bottle and downing half of it in one go.

0000000000000000

**-[Febuary 2545]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Briefing Room]-**

Curtis and the fifty other instructors all sat at the table, Culten had just finished briefing everyone on team Tanto and it was now Eriks' turn.

The former Alpha Company recruit stood and cleared his throat.

"Team Shark is showing much promises; very aggressive, all of them, and strong too, albeit a little lacking in resilience. Each of them is a natural leader and a prime physical specimen fitting the specifications of the S2 program. Recruits G096 and G142 almost immediately started fighting and it took three Marines to separate them. I suggest the team be tracked for SPECWAR group three…"

Curtis snorted and shook his head, earning a hard stare from Mendez.

"Ain't that a bit early for that, Connors? Training just begun, you don't even know if they can shoot straight!"

The other instructor simply shrugged.

Curtis didn't like him; Connors identified himself to his trainee and often left that cloud his judgment. Despite that, he was an excellent teacher, if he thought team Shark good enough for SPECWAR, they likely were.

The next to talk was Team Kukri's instructor:

"Well, I wish I could be as enthusiast; two of my trainees started requesting their mummy during the push ups session and the others kept picking on the smaller one. None of them completed the run and I had to use the cattle prod to motivate them… I hate doing that." The man shook his head, disgusted at the small atrocities humanity had to do for the greater good.

"And I hated being on the receiving end..." Kurt-051 muttered with a grin. That lightened the mood considerably.

"Petty Officer Curtis," Mendez began, leaning forward in his chair, "What about your team?" Mendez seemed interested in Orca squad, since it had, just like Shark, been assembled at the last minute, with Delta Company in mind, but events had thrown them into Gamma instead; a completely different game.

The former Beta Trainee smiled, "Orca is a very well balanced group and already has an emergent leader, Iona.

Very organized and structured, although there is that one , Bob, who's got a knack for cheap jokes… Quite good at it, too, seeing as he's just six.

They also have their resident teddy bear, Trevor, and big sister, Fal. Both fit Halsey's physical specs, although Fal's a little too unstable for my liking; was abused by her father, from her file…" He let no emotion through, but Curtis, like all of them, grew attached to his kids and anyone hurting them, even years before they were his trainees, risked having the living shit kicked out of them if they crossed his path.

"However," He continued, having apparently composed himself in the two seconds breather, "from the looks of it, she's developed an instinctual bond with Chris, the smaller but, in my opinion, hardest member of the team, as well as Iona, treating the other girl as a substitute mother and acting as her second in command…

Finally there's Abejundio, the genius, although that doesn't show yet. From her file, she played violin a year after taking her first step and speaks five languages already."

He noticed the weird looks everyone gave him and his smile vanished.

"What?"

Kurt talked first, "You know all their names and it's the third day."

"I love my job, what can I say?"

That actually earned him a few chuckles, then the next instructor reported on his team's performance. Nothing as aggressive as Connors, nor as passionate as Curtis, but he still had a high opinion of his recruits.

They were Spartans after all.

0000000000000000

**-[April 2545]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[O-Barracks]-**

"Attention, Orca!" Curtis announces while bursting in our dormitory.

I switch between dream and reality and Fal has to punch me out of it. Fal could punch the sun into going supernova.

"We're going to play a game," Curtis continues, "Hide and Seek. Half the company will be hiding in the woods and the other half will be searching for them. Those who are found will be on bread and water for two weeks, those who can't find anyone as well. If one member of your team is found, the whole team loses. Questions?"

We all jumped out of bed the moment he walked in and now we all hurriedly open our footlockers to grab a clean jumpsuit.

Iona stops just one second to ask which side we're on.

"You'll be hiding."

I always loose at hide and seek; and from the look Trevor gives me, he's not very good at it either…

"You'll have an hour to find a suitable spot and the game will last three hours, after this, you'll head for the slop. Let's hope you'll actually get to eat something else than bread, huh."

I shove my legs in the jumpsuit, quickly followed by my arms, then zip it up, jump in my boots and lace them tightly with a double knot, like Abe showed me.

Once I'm done, I decide to clear out something I find odd.

"Why are you telling us that, sir? Won't the Chief do it?"

Curtis gives me an annoyed stare. He doesn't like when we ask question.

"Mendez said those who actually wake up before the hour is done get extra info."

"So," Iona put in, "our one hour head start is already started?"

"It's more like forty minutes now… And the head start is not mandatory; most teams won't wake up and will only have five minutes after Mendez's 'briefing'. "

Trevor hesitates, "Do we have to attend 'beefing'?"

"No."

We all look at each others for exactly three seconds before running out of the barracks.

Iona, Bob and I make it out, but Fal and Trevor try to squeeze in at the same time, knocking each other down and bringing Abe with them. Abe's swearing is practically or soundtrack by now.

"Where to?" I ask the team members still standing.

"How 'bout these caves we saw when we ran yesterday?" Bob offers while helping Trevor up, but Iona thinks it's too obvious.

I grab Fal's collar –She would refuse my help otherwise- and shove the tall girl on her feet. She'll slap me for it as soon as her ears stop ringing.

"Let's go, we'll find something on the way." Iona decides.

For just one second, I wonder who put her in charge, but then I remember that she's the only one who knows what she's doing, so _we_ did.

We run around for thirty-five minutes without finding a suitable spot. Trees are either too dense to be climbable or too thin to hide us.

Iona takes us further away from the camp, orienting herself by the moss that grows on rocks and wind's speed and orientation. That girl scares the _shit _out of me… Which reminds me I didn't have time to use the bathrooms and, as is always the case when playing hide and seek, my bladder will taunt me the moment I'm hidden.

We encounter another team. They're all as tall as Trevor and look just as mean as Fal.

Five of them are in a large tree and one is cursing at them from the ground.

"Come on, guys! We're a team, help me up!"

"Get lost, Kyle!" One of those in the tree snaps, "Find your own hiding spot!"

Obviously, they didn't listen to their instructor…

We don't have much time, but Trevor insists on inviting 'Kyle' to come with us.

He declines and we resume moving, heading for an almost dried stream.

The others cross it without problem, sinking ankle deep in the mud on the other side, but I trip and fall face first in the stuff.

Everything goes black and I have mud in my ears.

At first, I'm angry, it's no warmer than on day one and now more than my boots are filled with water, but then I realize I can't pull myself up and can't breathe either.

I'm going to drown in mud! How fucking glorious!

The more I struggle, the harder it becomes to move. My lungs were already burning from the run, but now I feel like something is eating me from the inside…

I feel hands grabbing both my arms and get pulled out with a suction sound.

A voice, muffled by the mud in my ears, asks me if I'm alright and I just shake my head, so they tell me to just follow.

I still got mud all over my face and every attempt to wipe my eyes just makes it worst, most likely because I also have _shit_ all over my arms.

Combined with the hand tugging on my collar, I'm just about to do what Bob said on our first day; Throw my hands up and run away.

Then someone throws me in the stream, face first.

It's not deep, but god _damn_ it's cold!

Normally I would have been angry, but now I'm just glad I can see and hear again.

When I look at the team, they are all rolling around in the mud.

"What the _shit_ are you guys doing?" I exclaim, still sitting in the icy water.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Hide and Seek: Repercussion<strong>

* * *

><p>"Good? You see me?"<p>

"I couldn't until you opened your mouth." I growl, picking up a handful of mud to cover Trevor's mouth.

"Sorry."

"STOP TALKING!" I snap, picking up more mud.

Behind me, I hear Iona chuckle.

"You sure you can find another hiding spot?"

I understand why she's worried, but I'm not burying myself in there. Again.

"Yeah, plus, if I hid here, there would be no one to burry me."

She stops talking and I 'paint' her mouth again.

This is something Abe saw on TV once, native Americans from Earth hid themselves from French soldiers by burying themselves in the sand, leaving only their noses out. She won't tell us how it ended for them though.

The team is not actually completely buried, just halfway, but their uniform, face and arms are covered in mud and they are strewn around in a way that make them look like branches and random junk.

I covered myself in mud too, but that idea's from a movie about ODSTs my parent watched not long ago;

They crashed and didn't have their armor, so they covered themselves in dirt to blend in with the environment.

Also, I think it's fun.

As I get away from the stream and go deeper into the wood, I swat a mosquito out of my face and duck under a dense knot of foliage.

It's strange, how calm you can feel in places like this… I never felt like that when I played hide and seek with my sister, it's serious now, meaningful.

Behind me, I can hear shouting and laughing as the other teams begin searching.

They are still far, but I'm not hidden yet, so I'd better get to it.

Let's see… Trees? Too obvious.

Cave? Same thing.

Ferns and weeds beat my ankles for almost three minutes as I look around for a slope, hole, cavity or anything that could hide me. Nothing.

The mud is starting to dry and is fall off around my knees and shoulders.

I stop, I catch my breath, hands on my knees, for just one second, and, am about to get moving when a twig cracks behind me.

Immediately, I lie down on my belly and toss a few dead leaves on my back. A cheaper version of what the others did.

Footsteps. Getting closer.

Careful not to move, I try to find the source. Can't see much from here, grass hides everything not twice my height.

To my right is a slope, two meters high, approximately. The sound is coming from behind or on top of it.

As in; at spitting distance from this position.

I think I hear two people, but wouldn't bet money on it.

And since I want to eat this morning, I'm not going to go check.

That point, right now, is when it hits me, that I'm actually enjoying this; sneaking around, being invisible, knowing where everyone is when nobody knows where you are… I _love_ it.

The two slowly walk away and I wait until I can't hear them to get up and…

Found it.

Somewhat a mix between a tree and a cave; a fallen, rotten, hollowed out tree trunk.

It's large, open and pretty obvious, but with my 'camouflage' and if I stay quiet, I'm pretty sure I can pass for a bit of fungus.

I kneel in front of the entrance and peek in.

It's dark, smelly, creepy and there's insects all over.

Footsteps settle the question.

Rotting tree trunk it is!

The thing has only one opening, so I get in backward, trying not to think about rats, raccoons… Grizzly bears… That could live in this place.

Just as I reach the bottom of the trunk, something falls on my head.

I'd say it's a bit of wood, but it scuttles towards my ear, so it's a very big bug, with many legs and a cold body.

I've seen too much movies about aliens eating their victim's brain to just wait and see if it goes off by itself…

The truck cracks as my skull smacks against it, squeezing the bug, but the thing still fidgets, so I slam it one more time, hard enough to see stars and punch a hole in the rotten log.

It's dead, but I will have a nasty bump and now there's insect juice all over the top of my head.

Just then, I hear Fal scream something dangerously close to 'I'll kill your face!".

Looks like we lost.

Now how do I get out of this?

00000000000

**-[April 2545]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Mendez's Office]-**

Curtis was pissed. He was not often pissed.

Connors' group, the Sharks or whatever, had been one of the first to be found during the morning's war-game, because they had left one of their own behind, but they blamed it on Team Orca and ratted them out to the other teams.

As brilliant as their camouflage technique had been, and as proud as he was that they had figured that one on their own, he'd have no choice but to put them on bread and water, as promised, giving them a harsh reprimand for hiding so close to the other team.

Oh, he knew life was rarely fair and it wasn't the injustice that irked him.

They were punishing ingenuity and trust of fellow Spartans while encouraging petty conflicts and superiority complexes. Now Orca would think twice about turning their back to other teams and Shark felt like they had the power to make other teams fail.

That didn't sit well with him, neither was the fact that his trainees were treated as just another bunch of under average Spartans.

Indeed, two thirds of them were not Spartan material, just random munchkins plucked off the street, but Curtis had never seen a unit work together so instinctively and efficiently and he would be damned before he left such potential be wasted because a bunch of cocky brats wouldn't play fair.

He busted in Mendez's office and fell face to face with Connors, who smiled smugly before leaving.

What the… What did that bastard tell the chief?

"Petty Officer," Mendez growled, "please close the door. We must talk about your recruits."

00000000000

I sit between Trevor and Fal, both chewing on dry bread, and look at Iona, sitting in front of me.

"You still got mud on your nose." I state, before taking a sip in my glass.

She growls and rub her face with a towel. We didn't get to take a shower, so we're all still covered in mud.

"How did they find us anyway?" Bob whines, "We were buried, they could have walked on us and would never have noticed!"

Abe and I exchange a glance, then look at the table where the Sharks are.

They are stuck with bread and water too, but that doesn't keep them from giving us those kinds of smiles that make you want to smack someone… Hard… With a rock… A big one…

Abe is looking at me; I'm looking at the plate of a kid, sitting next to us.

Tuna, they're eating tuna. I think it has something to do with today being the first of April… Don't ask me, I don't know.

She follows my gaze and grins.

"You sure it's a good idea?"

"No, but it will be FUN."

Fal wants in on it and the others simply didn't notice anything.

00000000000

**-[April 2545]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[S02-Barracks]-**

Connors woke up to the complaints and cries of his trainees.

His first thought was about what could make them all wake up in the middle of the night and bitch so much after a day of running in the woods and barely eating at all.

His second was about _what the_ _fuck_ could stink like that.

He got out of his bedroom, in the corner next to the latrine, and glanced around.

"Well, seems classics never die."

Dead fishes, with only the bones left, were hanging from the ceiling on thin ropes all over the room, empty eye sockets and gaping mouths greeting Team Shark.

Some recruits were pulling bits of fish from under their pillows and, in the middle of it all, a poster-sized picture of an orca attacking a great white shark hung from the ceiling. Pretty badass; the shark had jumped to catch a seal, but got intercepted by the much larger orca in midflight.

_That's one heck of a lucky seal._

Connors smiled at that, while his trainees scurried around trying to get bits of fish off themselves. The things _reeked._

He had to give it to Orca; that was a pretty good one.

He was somewhat glad they gave his own boy a good slap in the face, Shark needed some humility lesson and the rivalry that would ensue would push both group to perform even better. Better yet, Orca had gone for the non-violent route, perhaps that would motivate his own team to use their brain.

Connors walked up to the picture and wondered just where they got it. It was very good quality, color printer, photo paper, 3D picture. The kind of stuff only a computer can do and Trainees did not get access to such computer.

That's when he realized that, considering the team's resources, this was far more than a practical prank; this was practically a kindergarten-styled covert op.

"Come on, Sharks!" He barked, "I want this barrack cleaned up by morning."

_That smell will never wash away._

He thought, humorously, while wondering what Shark's answer was going to be..

He just hoped no one would get hurt.

0000000000000

**-[April 2545]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Mendez's Office]-**

Chief Mendez and Commander Ambrose are both staring at me.

Mendez's office smells like old wood and smoke. It's small too, so the fact there are two fully grown UNSC soldiers in it doesn't help.

"You claim responsibility for what happened in the Shark's barracks?" Mendez asks from behind his desk.

I didn't claim anything and I'm not sure what that means, so I clarify:

"I did it, yes."

"Alone?"

"I did it." I repeat, earning strange looks from both officers.

"Chris…" Ambrose begins, stepping away from the wall he was leaning on, "Your psych evaluation makes you out to be resourceful, but it also states that you have no leadership skills and very little sense of initiative. Either someone told you to do it or you did it with someone else."

I stand a little straighter and look him in the eyes

"It was my idea. No one else's."

The two officers look at each other and, after a few seconds, Mendez tells me to go back to my team.

I wonder why I'm not being punished when it clicks in my head.

I spent the whole day yesterday covered in dried mud and insect blood, slept three hours last night, will be eating nothing but bread for the next week and will most probably be dealing with the Sharks' revenge.

Just what could they do to make my life worst?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: War<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2545]-<strong>

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Communal Showers]-**

There is no hot water. Again.

You know, with all this money the UNSC shells trying to make us into SPARTANs, one would expect decent plumbing.

I woke up twenty minutes early this morning, figured I'd take a shower right away then go back to the barracks and wake the others. Not Fal, Trevor wakes Fal, or she punches me and I don't like being punched…

I am a better thing to wake up to than Curtis, that's for sure. Fal tried to slug him once; she's still sore.

In any case, the cold water is kinda ruining my mood and the day's not started yet.

The whole point of getting up early is that there still will be enough hot water.

Well, at least a cold shower lets me clear my brain and think about my new life.

In the last months, my arms have grown bigger and I can run longer, twice as much as the others, actually, although Fal is faster.

That's the same at pretty much everything, I'm the strongest after Trevor, the smartest after Abe, the fastest after Fal, the most sneaky after Bob and the best strategist after Iona… Squad's Jack-Of-All-Trade, Curtis calls me.

He says it's a good thing, that SPARTANs have that big 'Overspecialization' problem that makes it easy to get them out of their comfort zone. Also means I don't have a comfort zone, which is not that good, it means I'm always second pick.

Today, we'll have our first trip at the firing range, so I'll see if I'm the second best shot too.

I close the water –no need for soap or shampoo, it's added to the water. Stupid, but that's UNSC for you.- and fetch a towel from the dispenser, next to the door, before entering the locker room.

Training kicks in; I scan my new environment before doing anything:

Lockers on both sides of the room. Bench in the middle. No windows.

Entry points…

Behind me. Irrelevant, I come from there.

In front of me; the door to the rest of the base. I can smell the god damned bread baking already.

Our 'Bread and water' period ended a month ago, but it still makes me sick.

All clear.

I put on fresh underwear and a clean jumpsuit and…

The door in front of me opens. The Shark guy, Kyle, comes in.

I nod and go back to getting dressed; slipping socks on and preparing to put my boots too.

"Hey, guys." I greet, when the rest of his team walk in too.

They don't answer and take a few steps in my direction.

This is bad… Well I've followed the same training as them, which means we all know how and where to punch, but they have a good head more than me and are all a lot larger, which brings us back to 'this is bad'.

So bad in fact that it would probably be a good idea to use that scalpel hidden in my boot…

No… They're SPARTANs, the UNSC needs us all, we can't go and kill each other in training! I can make sure they understand attacking another Spartan isn't something wise, though…

The first one lunge at me and I throw my boot in his face, knocking him on his ass. It's natural, not training, we haven't started dueling yet, that'll come next month. This comes from home…

I backhand a human shape trying to flank me, earning a startled yelp.

Next up is Kyle; he maneuvered to the left of the bench while the rest is on the right.

Crude flanking… Damn these guys are dumb!

I move to tackle him, but one of the others uses that distraction to kick me in the knee and punch my nose.

Ow.

I fall back and hit the wall hard as they approach.

A few blinks later, the stars go away and I use the wall to throw myself at Kyle, shoulder first.

This time I hit, straight in the guts, he stumbles backward, waving his arms trying to restore his balance..

I let Kyle fall and turn to the tallest of the group…

In time to see his fist before it collides with my face. Again.

I hit the lockers, on two meters from where I first hit, and it makes so much noise my ears ring. Or maybe it's the hammering blow that does it.

This time, however, two of them grab my arms and pin me against the lockers while the biggest -his name tag says he's called Adrian-G270- grabs my chin.

"You shouldn't have messed with real Spartans, dumbass." He snarls before punching me in the guts.

I feel like I'm going to puke, but I don't. Then the pain comes.

I didn't know a simple punch could hurt so much.

He punches me again and the pain is much sharper.

I think I felt something break…

With the next punch comes a blinding white light and taste of copper.

The next one actually makes me puke.

Plus, I think I soiled my pants.

Great.

The guys release me and I fall to a knee, struggling for breath.

"Gross! Well, he didn't give much fight, I hope the girl does…" One of them comments as they head for the door.

The girl?

"Wait…" I groan, "What girl?"

Adrian bends in front of me.

"That black bitch, Iona? Your boss. We'll pay her a visit too."

Iona. But why? It's my fault, it was my idea! Why punish her for my mistake.

_Because they're assholes and because you are going to let them._

Iona's like a sister, I can count on her and she counts on me, but I just got her into trouble because I wanted revenge.

An image flashes before my eye, corpses, burnt to a crisp in a car, a pink blanket… Nima.

Home comes charging back; It's not over until it's over and it's only over when you give up. Nima died because I took my sweet time fetching her blanket, she died because of me.

History has a way of repeating itself…

…Unless Shark understands the cost for messing with Orca will be high…

I spit some blood and look up. It's all so clear now… Pain don't hurt, it's just a warning signal. Failure hurts, and I can't fail unless I fucking say so.

"No, you won't."

The scar on my back is hurting me for the first time in months, but it's a good kind of pain, sharp and constant, along with the burning sensation in my chest, it makes me feel strong.

I guess that's what some call hate. It burns. My face, hands, legs, my whole body is on fire, I got plasma in my veins and quite frankly, I'm loving it.

"What are you going to…"

My fist connect with his jaw with enough force send him across the room into the opposite locker row.

It's like playing king of the mountain; it's not the strongest one that wins, it's the one that always comes back for more, who never gives up.

It's me.

He bounces off the lockers and stumble around, blinking. I lunge and block his right hook… With my face. Forehead, more accurately, barely rings a bell in my skull, but it sure cracks some bones in his fist.

My uppercut smashes his chin again and he falls.

Not dramatically, by falling to his knees first or sissy-like, with his hand to his fore head, but timber style; one second he's up, the next he's down.

I turn to the others and smile. They are too shocked to react.

"The real Spartans got fucked!" I spit before grabbing my boots and shoving past the Sharks.

No one stops me.

Smart move.

…Shit, I'll have to go to the infirmary.

00000000000000

"I'm going to kill all of them!" Fal fumes, stomping around the barracks.

She already scared Trevor and Bob into silence –they are both sitting in their beds as far away from her as possible- and seems just about to scare off Abe and Curtis.

Me, I'm holding an ice pack and towel to my nose and sitting on my bunk.

"No, you won't recruit." The instructor snaps, "I will."

We all laugh at that and Curtis steps next to me.

"You went to the Chop Shop?"

"Yes, sir." I answer with a short nod.

That causes a new stream of blood to stain the towel. Note to self; catching a stronger, bigger opponent's punch with your face will leave marks. _Don't._

"Good," He turns to the others. "Listen now, I know you want revenge, it's natural and a good thing, but it won't hurt Shark. Not _enough_, anyway."

We all listen to him very closely after that statement.

"They want to become SPECWAR operators and they have a pretty damn good shot at it, except there is only room for one team in that program; if one of the other teams that qualifies for it actually beats them… Well, that would fuck their day a thousand fold."

Iona is the first to catch up.

"We are the other team?"

"Of course you are!" Curtis laughs, "You might suck, but you suck much less that these other losers!

I won't lie to you, this is long term revenge, stripping them of their dream, and you'll have to work twice harder, twice as much, but I know you can do it, let them waste time on payback."

I remove the towel from my face.

"But sir, they fit Halsey's genetic and physical profile, we're just… Us!"

He doesn't miss a beat and answers in a decisive voice, "That didn't keep you from kicking Adrian's ass, did it?"

I exchange a glance with the others, Fal is smiling proudly, Iona just nods and Trevor and Bob are trying to stay the hell away from Fal.

Abe went back to reading a book whose title is too complex for my brain to even register it.

SPARTAN training is supposed to be the hardest in the world and Curtis is offering to make it even harder. I'm not sure we can do it or even survive it, but I wouldn't mind trying.

Of course, the decision isn't mine.

As if she knows, Iona crosses her arms and gives one last sharp nod before turning to Fal, who's still smiling –she didn't understand a thing and given her personality, would most probably agree if she did-, then Bob, who gives a thumbs up, Trevor just folds his arms behind his head and lounge on the bed while Abe mutters something along the line of 'If we're going to be broken into tiny bits before being rebuilt from the ground up, might as well make it count.'

Well, seems like we somehow managed to make the toughest training in the universe even harder… This will hurt.

000000000000000

**-[May 2545]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Shooting Range]-**

The Quarter Master gave us all an M6D pistol and an M7 SMG. Apparently, we couldn't handle anything bigger and, quite frankly, I'm glad Fal didn't get that shotgun she was eyeing…

Right now, We're in chronological order in separate firing lanes. I'm first, Iona is in the lane to my right, Bob's in the next one, then Trevor, Abby and Fal.

Curtis checks us all to make sure we have our ear and eye protections –Fal took hers off and gets chewed- then tells us how to use the guns.

It's complicated.

First, the pistols have a switch on the side called the safety, we must always keep the safety on when we're not firing and never point our gun at something we don't wanna see explode.

Second, we must hold the gun with both hands, one on the handle and the other over the first. The first one must try to push the barrel down and the second try to push it up. It helps with recoil, whatever recoil is.

Third, there are three glowing bits on the top of the gun. One at the tip and the others at the rear. We must line up these dots so the form a line and keep the center dot on the target.

Finally, we must grab that metal bar on the table, the clip or magazine, and slip it in the grip, then pull hard on the top part of the gun, the slide, until it 'slides' back.

"Fifty one, you're on! Prep your weapon but DO NOT fire!" he then barks.

I pick up the gun, check the safety, insert a clip and pull on the slide.

It resists at first, so I pull harder and manage to bring it all the way back after the third try, although it was pretty hard. I hope I don't have to do it every time.

Then, Curtis tells me to place my feet in a L shape and to aim at the target. I lift the gun and aim down the sights, but, apparently, it's not a good idea to press the weapon against your cheek.

"Hold it at arm's length, like this, then bring it halfway back… Good. Now line up you shot, take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger as you release it. Understand?"

I nod and look at the target, a black Elite silhouette, then at the glowing green dots on my gun, then back at the target.

I flick the safety off and…

**_*BANG!*_**

I yelp in surprise and almost drop the weapon. This thing is loud!

I try to find the hole in my target, but there doesn't seem to be one.

"Good, recruit. Now put the safety back on and wait for instructions. One-one-seven! Your turn!"

None of us hit the target, but we all make it out alive, so it's not so bad, although Curtis decides to make us shoot the M7s later.

After that we get our first chemistry class; Abby's excited, Fal wants to die and Trevor hopes they'll show us how to make bombs. Trevor likes bomb way too much for it to be healthy…


	2. The Next Level

**Chapter 6: Orca Four Is Down**

* * *

><p><strong>-[July 2545]-<strong>

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Camp Currahee]-**

Ugh… Parade drill; third this week.

This is getting very boring very fast, but Mendez wants the whole company able to parade perfectly, for some reason, so all three hundred of us are stomping around the base in rhythm with some drums and the shouting of the instructors.

It's long, useless and my feet hurt, so right now, I hate this particular training.

To my left, Fal looks totally pissed as well, but then again, she always look like that. Trevor, however, seems to like it, for some reason; he is standing straight in his uniform and parading like the whole UNSC is watching him.

Then again, he's the tallest Spartan in the company so anyone that looks at us is bound to notice him.

Behind me, Abby groans, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"About what?" Iona whispers back.

"No Id…"

Something splashes across my face and I see Trevor fall to the ground, his head covered in red.

"Sniper! Take cover!" It's Mendez, he's taken out his M6G pistol and is firing at something in the woods.

The other instructors do the same and, all of a sudden, it's chaos; recruits running around, some looking at splotches of red on their gray uniforms in horror and disbelief…

Fear rises, but is smothered instantly as Fal and I each grab one of Trevor's boots, meanwhile, other trainees get shot in the head and back. There is so much red! It's everywhere!

We pull the big guy's body all the way to the middle of the 'Horseshoe' when something hits me in the knee very hard, making me fall to the ground, face first.

"I'm hit!" I spurt, rolling on my back and tentatively feeling my leg.

Iona is with me in a second. "Can you walk?"

"Better than Trevor," I admit, finding a wet spot right on the side of my left knee, "Help him, I'll be alright!"

To emphasize, I push myself on my feet and survey the area.

Everyone is heading for the barracks, obvious choice. Too obvious, if I was the sniper and I wanted to kill the SPARTAN program, I'd plant a bomb in there.

"Let's go to the infirmary!" I yell over the gunfire.

"Reason?" Iona asks as Bob and Abby grab Trevor's arms.

"Guts feeling."

"Good enough!"

Half the company is gone now; soon we'll be easy targets.

I run ahead, the pain in my leg now nothing more than a dull throb, and open the door for the others.

"Big guy sure is heavy…" Bob bitches as he passes me by.

The door shakes on its hinges and groans as a bullet impacts just over my head. Too close.

I snap the door shut as soon as the others are through and look around for a weapon. Fal beats me to it; she already has a bone saw in hand.

"If some fucker opens that door," She begins, while stepping to said door's right, next to the doorknob, "You slam it on their face and I cut 'em up."

Her face is set in stone, no twitching, no smile, no frown, nothing. Her near perfect features are only disturbed by that half-assed Glasgow smile on her cheek.

Fal doesn't scare me, the others think she's unpredictable, but, I don't know why, there's no one I'd rather have at my side in a fight.

With a nod, I get in position and listen as the others check on Trevor. Mendez taught us first aid and field stitching, although it's anyone's guess whether I'd be able to remember it right now or just end up killing him.

Iona and Bob are panicking, searching for the wound, while Abby tries to find a first aid kit. Where's the nurse when you need her?

"Ugh… Ow…"

Wait…

Everyone stops moving as Trevor sits up, groaning. He is facing the door, so he notices Fal and me first.

"Wha…Did yah cut yaslef again, Fris?" He stutters, blinking rapidly. The Russian accent is long gone; he talks like a retard now because he bit his tongue or something…

Iona forces him to lie down while Abby takes a closer look at his head. Well, you can't force someone like Trevor, but you can incite him anyway, and when Iona 'incites' you to do something, you better do it.

Meanwhile, I wipe the blood on my face with my sleeve. It smells like oil and is pretty slimy, but I couldn't say it's abnormal; I'm no doctor.

Abby's outraged yell solves the question.

"It's paint!"

"What do you mean it's paint?"

"I mean it's red paint, used in training rounds and paintballs!" I look at my bruised knee. The pants are covered in red, but underneath the skin is clean, if yellowish in places.

Heh… That's hilarious, not sure why, but it is…

Bob obviously thinks so too, since he bursts out laughing.

The others give him a weird look, but all have at least a slight smile on their faces.

Man this was scary!

0000000000000

**-[September 2546]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[O-Barracks]-**

"Wake up, recruits!"

_What? But we just got to bed!_

Despite my mental protest, I get on my feet and bump into Bob in the process. He exchanged beds with Trevor so he could get the heck away from Fal. I'm used to seeing a walking wall when I wake up, so Bob, being half a head smaller than me now, goes pretty much unnoticed…

"Oi! Watch it, fatty!" He yelps, jumping out of my way.

I stick out my tongue at him and slip in my jumpsuit along with my boots.

They're new, I had a growth spurt last month and took almost a feet. Although I'm still nowhere as tall as Trevor, I'm now average Spartan height.

Well, average years old Spartan height…

"Listen up kids!" Curtis barks, "There are Pelicans waiting for you out there, you'll get briefed on the way, now move it!"

We file out the barrack and end up in a storm of dust kicked up by the dropships' turbines.

Trevor tries to tell me something, but the seven pelicans make way too much noise. He bends over and yell in my ear.

"Things sure are noisy!"

"No Kidding!" is the only answer that seems to fit.

Iona sits on the first bench, right next to the ramp and Fal sits beside her. I decide to sit next to Fal, because, as it turns out, she doesn't creep me out so much anymore.

That said, I must admit we spent a lot of time picking fights with Sharks and Sabers, so I suppose it's natural I trust her more than the others do.

She gives me a ferocious grin as I look for straps that obviously aren't there.

"Hope we get to beat up some sharks… Although I'd like a rematch with Holly, too!"

I wouldn't, she's nuts, but Kyle and I have a score to settle because of that little 'friendly fire accident' the other day… I still got marks.

Two more squads enter the Pelican, then the ship takes off with a roar of engine that has me clinging to my seat, otherwise I'd get thrown off and would bring Iona and Fal with me. Of course, heavily armed and armored spaceship got no seatbelts!

The camp soon becomes little more than a glowing dot in a sea of trees. Cloudless night I suppose, although I can't really say how high clouds are on Onyx. Abby could, but she's too far and I don't feel like yelling.

"Okay, kids," Curtis announces from where he's sitting, on the ramp, "Grab a chute under your seats, Petty Officer O'Rian will inspect them and make sure you don't kill yourselves. Double time!"

I fetch the olive green backpack before my brain even registered.

We're going to jump from a perfectly good plane in midflight and hope the glorified blankets we're hanging to holds until we touch the ground… Why don't I like the idea?

I still slip the harness without bitching, which is more than Bob can say.

"Seriously, sir! I mean, I'm not sure I'm flight worthy…All that Not-Hollow bones, Non-Feathered, wingless stuff…"

"Recruit, shut up and put on that back pack."

"Yes sir. I'd like to say, for the record…"

"I don't care, Recruit."

"Shutting up, sir."

Once O'Rian's checked all our backpacks –Mine was too loose and I would have died. Reassuring.- Curtis has us all stand in a line. Iona and Fal go first, then it'll be me and Bob.

From where Curtis stands, on the tip of the ramp, he can both see the ones still inside and those going down.

"One one seven, three one seven, you're on!" He yells after hooking two weird ribbons to rails in the roof.

Fal and Iona never even hesitate; they leap out and I think I can hear Fal laughing. Don't quote me on that, but I think the fact the ribbons Curtis hooked to the ship remained hooked to it is a clear sign someone needs to re-think the whole HALO jump concept.

"Fifty one, one twenty-three, move it!"

We both walk up to the edge of the ramp. I really shouldn't look down, but, what the hell, I'm about to be thrown out the back of a VTOL, sue me.

It's weird, I've never been so high before. Everything is tiny… Hard to believe there is absolutely nothing behind me and the ground, just a huge bloc of air… That won't keep me from splattering on the ground… At least a thousand meters bellow… Oh fuck I'm gonna die here.

Bob must see the blood retreating from my face because he elbows me in the ribs, bringing me back to reality.

"If something goes wrong, pull the ring on your chest! Only if the first chute doesn't deploy, get it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Jump!"

I elbow Bob shouler, "Race ya!" before jumping.

Abby yells something just before I do, but I guess it can wait until we're on the ground.

Then, I hear a loud metallic sound that causes me to look up.

I see Curtis' face. Never good when your stone hard trainer has a panicked expression. Then I see the ribbon.

It's still linked to my pack.

Told you not to quote me on that…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Orca Four Got Nicked<strong>

* * *

><p>0000000000000000<p>

For just one second, I imagine what it would be like to hit the ground at that speed; the wind is screaming in my ears and I could swear I hear laughing and whispers.

It's strange, the air actually feels solid, like a mattress or something, but I'm still falling, the ground is still climbing to give me a solid hug.

The ring.

Fingers pat my chest for just a second, looking for something round and metallic.

Gottcha!

The thing is hard to pull, but I've got molten rock in my veins and ten thousand volts running along my spine, so the backup parachute still deploys.

_Thank you Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and any other bearded guy up there!_

The straps bite in my shoulders and chest as the glorified blanket gradually slows my descent.

"Curtis!" I roar, "I'm so going to kick your ass for this!" And then, as an afterthought, I add "Sir!"

Then I hit the ground so hard everything goes black. I takes a second for my sight to come back and, when it does, Iona, Curtis and Fal are kneeling over me.

"So, " I groan, my voice strange, as if coming from underwater, "What went wrong?"

00000000000000

**-[September 2546]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Mendez's Office]-**

Last time I was in Mendez's office, I was expecting to be shot in the face… That was months ago. It seems much smaller now, but not as intimidating, somehow. Mendez, however, still looks like he could strangle the life out of the Commander, and the Commander's a Spartan-II

Adrian, Shark leader, is standing at attention next to me, terror and confusion painted in his face.

"Can you tell me, Two seven, why Fifty-one's static line, although passing all pre-flight check, somehow ended up tearing like wet paper?"

The terrified Spartan opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water.

"Sir," Interrupting the Chief is never a good idea, but what the heck. "Did you stop the jump exercise after the accident?"

Mendez gives me a black look, but nod.

"So no one from the second wave, other than me, jumped, right?"

"Get to the point, recruit!"

Yeah, the point… How could the sharks know an Orca would be using this parachute? There were two other teams in that dropship and none of us knew there was going to be an exercise. And I took a seat at random; anyone could have been sitting there!

"Sir, I think someone slipped a few sabotaged parachutes in the exercise, I just happened to be the first and only to end up with one."

Mendez's expression is unreadable, but I think I can see a few veins sticking out of his neck.

"This would be consistent with your horrible luck, recruit, but this also means one of my staff is a rat…" I would hate to be that guy right now. "You two, don't tell anyone about this, and don't try to look for the one responsible; it's an order, understood?"

"Yes sir!" Adrian and I bark in perfect sync.

He dismisses us with a nod and we both quickly exit his office.

Adrian put both hands on the wall, using it as support for his shaking knees, and finally resumes breathing.

"Shit, I almost craped my pants…" He laughs before leaning backward on the concrete. "Thanks, man…"

I put my right hand on his shoulder and ram my left in his guts. As he falls to his knees, struggling to breathe; I grab a fistful of his over-regulation hairs to force his head up.

"If you had anything to do with it," I hiss, hoping to sound threatening, "I'll snap your neck and burry your corpse under the latrines."

He lift his thumb and mutter something like "'s'cool…".

I turn away and leave the office area.

Hey, I can actually scare the shit out of someone! I think I'm spending too much time with Fal…

0000000000000

**-[October 2546]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[202 Kilometers North-West of Camp Currahee]-**

**-[-]-**

"Word is, Beta remnants came back," Bob whispers from where he's hiding, next to me, "Curtis tried to find some of his mates, but… I dunno, all they said is that stuff went wrong…"

'Stuff went wrong'… Two survivors; I guess it's a way of putting it.

I saw Curtis at the mess hall yesterday with the other Beta washouts… They won't show it to us, but that's weighting hard on them. They talked about some colony called Pegasi. Thing got glassed and Beta along with it. From what I understand, it happened almost a year ago, but they only released the info now.

"What's Curtis' first name anyway?"

Now that's a good question. I know Connor's name's Erik, Mendez's Franklin and Ambrose is Kurt, but Curtis…

"Petty Officer First Class." I offer, earning a chuckle.

I flatten a rebellious cluster of high grass that keeps getting in my face and flatten my cheek on the rifle's stock.

"What kind of parents would name their kid 'Petty'?"

"Yours did call you Bob…"

"Get stuffed."

"_Four, Two, shut up."_

I tap my suit's comm.

"Copy, One."

"Bugger, when did Iona become such a bitch?" I glance at Bob from the corner of my eye. He's the main shooter, so his gun's bigger than mine, which, given his size, makes him look a bit dumb.

He couldn't peek in the scope while in a prone position, so he has to sit behind the weapon, like it was a mounted machine gun.

"_I didn't, you just grew more stupid. Chris, punch him."_

I bump his shoulder with my fist, hesitantly.

"_Sissy."_

Flipping the bird to your commanding officer is considered insubordination in pretty much every branch of the military, yet I get away with it by pretending I was checking wind speed.

"Target in sight." Bob suddenly announces, interrupting the exchange.

I peek down my own scope and whisper "Confirmed." When Adrian's head jumps into view.

"Sharks!" Bob and I curse at the same time.

Curtis and Connors are having way too much fun pitting us against each other, I'm sure it's criminal.

In the distance, Adrian walks out of a round concrete structure with a flag on top of it. He surveys his surroundings before checking the electrified fences surrounding the bunker.

The door is facing away from us, so we can't get a shot at those inside.

There is approximately seven meters between the entrance and the fence, our position on the cliff gives us a perfect shot and our dart guns are just within range, so as expected…

"_Take the shot, two, four, someone will check on the target, take them out too."_

I tap the mic twice and peek down the scope.

Next to me, Bob is slowing his respiration and entering that state of perfect focus he gets in before every shot.

For just a second, the jokes, wiseass attitude and childish behavior is replaced by ice cold, steel hard focus.

Then he squeeze the trigger and snicker "Take it up the arse, bitch."

"_You're a sick person, Two, nice shot anyway."_

Another Shark who's name I never bothered to learn runs out of the bunker…

I place the crosshair a few degrees over his head and to the left.

Inhale. Hold. Rel…***Fffttt!*…**ease. The dart flies in a pronounced arc before hitting the Spartan in the neck. He pulls it out, staggers backward a bit, then collapse like a corpse.

"Sucker down." I whisper.

"_Three, Six, you're on! Five, cut the power! Two provide sniper support, Four, get down there and meet with us at the bunker."_

As I fold the bipod on my silenced M392, Bob slaps my shoulder playfully.

"Don't worry, mate, I got you covered."

I nod, then hook my rappelling wire to the bolt we placed in the rock earlier.

"One small step for man, one giant leap as far as I'm concerned." I recite before starting my descent. The rope is burning my hands even trough the gloves, but I'm not about to loosen my grip.

Fucking cliff is thirty meters high.

Quite surprisingly, I clear it in five jumps, which also means I must hold even harder in the future…

Or just avoid hanging from cliffs on a nylon rope…

Gunfire from the camp reminds me I have a flag to take.

The forest is thick and having to hold a gun while maneuvering in it doesn't help. I step over a downed tree and do my best not to disturb any foliage.

I jump over the same stream we hid in years ago and this time avoid the mud.

Twenty seconds later, I reach the clearing where the battle is taking place. Dropping to a knee, I survey the area; Sharks in the bunker, Fal and Trevor on the right side, hiding behind tree stump, Iona and Abby to the left and I'm at the front.

Shark is shooting trough the lateral openings, leaving the front one completely un-checked and giving me a perfect shot.

Making sure there's a tree hiding me from eventual retaliation fire, I line my

Sight with Kyle's neck and send him to la-la land.

The others fire a few shot at me and I duck behind cover, but they forgot about the others, more accurately, about Fal.

The door behind them burst open and the Sharks end up with a dart up their collective ass.

Annnddd that's when I feel something sharp in my shoulder. Before I can check it, however, my body stops obeying me and I fall face first against the tree.

Shhhhiit, I got nicked.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?<strong>

* * *

><p>000000000000000000<p>

**-[September 2546]-**

**-[?]-**

**-[?]-**

**-[?]-**

"Wake up, Spartan" A robotic voice orders.

_Oh man, you're fucked!_

I open my eyes and realize it's true; I'm in a small circular room, tied on a chair with a blinding light shining in my face. I can hear peoples screaming in the background and the whole place has a sewer feeling to it.

A shadow moves behind the light. Creeping the shit out of me. The robotic tone suggested an intercom; I suppose he's actually wearing an armor.

"Good! I am Loki, right now, you are my prisoner, but I am hoping this will change soon."

"Prisoner? Where am I" I grumble, faking sleepiness.

I must be a good actor, since the guy orders someone else to get some water.

While he's busy, I test the bonds tying my hands behind my back. I am not tied to the chair, actually, my wrists are just attached together with what seems to be nylon ropes.

If only I could reach my boot and grab the scalpel there. Now that I think about it, do I even still have my boots?

A short visual inventory confirms that they only took away my armor, helmet, gun and ammo, I still have my military trousers and shirt.

This means I still got a surgical titanium blade in my boot and these suckers don't know about it.

Well, that's all neat, but I do hope I get to use it before they shoot me in the face…

"Well, Chris," The distorted voice begins, "I will be blunt; the SPARTAN Program is doomed to fail. What happened to Alpha and Delta will happen to you, to their eye, you're expendable, just a piece of equipment to be tossed away when it is convenient."

"Yeah," I spit, defiantly, "but I'll get to kill covies and that's good enough for me. What do you think? Want me to side with you or something? Forget it! I'm a Spartan numbnuts, I'll sooner crush your skull than betray Earth! In fact, I'll crush your skull either way at some point or another, that's a given."

A nice rant, I wish I actually believed in it. Wonder if Loki did.

"You'll change your mind, eventually. Bring him to the cells!" Guess he didn't.

I get lifted from the chair by two guys armored from head to toe with what seems to be an older ODST BDU.

That they drag me through the door without my feet so much as touching the floor is somewhat humiliating, but I'm too busy wondering how I'm going to escape this place to really care.

So… Accessing something in your shoe when your arms are tightly tied in your back would be quite a feat, one I really don't think I can accomplish.

We… They walk dark and damp tunnels for a few minutes before reaching a dead end with three steel doors on each side. Cells.

"Where do we put him?" The one on the left asks.

"Boss said we should put Orcas with Sharks, less chance of them working together."

"Yeah, I just hope we don't have to clean up the mess afterwards."

The other one scoffs and opens a cell. The first on the right.

They toss me in without much care and I hit the cold metal floor face first. I don't know what it is, but as my face scraps against the floor, I feel something, poking out of the latter, dig in my cheek.

The second the door closes, I decide this is not a drill. The Chief would never do that to us.

Would he?

"So, How'd they get you?" A familiar voice asks.

Kyle. He's sitting in a corner of the cell, arms behind his back.

"Fuck off." I growl.

"Charming."

God I'd love to charm his face with my fist right now.

Let's stay focused. I roll on my back and push on the heel of my left boot with my right foot. Of course, I fucking had to tie them up so damn tight!

"Need help stripping?" Kyle scoffs from his corner.

"Yeah, actually." I hiss back. Somehow, I manage to clear my heel and only have to shake my foot around for the boot to fall off.

"Dude, this place stinks enough as it is, could you please…" He freezes.

As he was cracking wises, I was on my knees facing away from the shoe and picking the battered but still unused surgical instrument from a slit in the ankle.

All he sees is a glitter of metal and that's enough to make him smile.

"Did I mention I loved you?" He scoffs as the scalpel slowly but easily cut away at my bonds.

Fucking thick ropes are thick…

Footsteps behind the door interrupt me and I toss the blade in the boot, facing the door to hide the half cut rope.

It's one of those prison doors, like in the vids, with a sliding thing at eye level, allowing the wardens to check on the prisoners.

Of course, cameras are so hard to get.

The thing slides open and a black visor appears.

"Why'd you take your boot off?" a mechanical voice asks.

"Figuring a way to throw it in his face." I explain, nodding to Kyle, who gives me a shocked look.

There are a few awkward mechanical chuckles and the sliding thing slides back shut.

Three seconds later, give or take, I'm free and shoving Kyle on flat on his face.

"Ow! Asshole!" He snaps as I cut him loose.

I help him up and glance at the door.

"What now?"

I shrug, "I got us free, you think of a plan."

He glances around, in deep thought.

"Well," He begins, after a second, "I could pretend to beat the shit out of you, you pretend you're still tied up, they come in, try to stop me and you jump them while I keep them busy."

Hey, that's actually pretty good… Except the part where he's beating the shit out of me. I might have grown pretty tall, but most Sharks followed suit, only the girl is smaller than me now.

"You're bigger," I protest, "I'd better attract their attention while you knock them, better chance of success…" I grin at the next thought, "Besides, _I know how to take a beating."_

He cringes but nods, "Fine then."

Kyle lies on the ground, arms folded under him, while I proceed to give him a few light kicks, giving a good swing before coming to a stop just as I'm about to hit him, turning a hard kick into a rough nudge.

"Ow! Fuck! Guards, do fucking something! Asshole's trying to kill me! GUARDS!"

Pretty convincing, but I decide to… add some realism and kick him once in the ribs.

"Ow!" He yelp, before hissing, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Maybe…"

Footsteps behind the door and frantic metallic sounds confirm that, for once, our plan is working.

The door opens with a very loud bang and two guys, wearing the same black suits, walk in, electrified stun sticks in hand.

Shit, that's some armor plates they have, I really don't see Kyle knocking them out.

One of them tries to poke me with the stick, reminding me I actually have to fight these guys, while the other maneuvers to get behind me. I dodge the attack pretty easily, since I'm not weighted down by all this metal, and glance at Kyle.

He's on his feet trying to figure a way to knock the two guards unconscious.

I have an idea, but it's stupid… Then again, if it's stupid and it works…Well, reality's stupid.

I grab the chest plate of the guy behind, put my naked feet on the front one's boot and grab the electrified tip of the same guy's sti…

**OH MY GOD THE FUCKING PAIN!**

There is nothing else, just the burning in my foot, hand and the feeling I have a jackhammer piercing my back along the spine.

Every nerve of my body screams in agony, my ears are burning and freezing, my eyes are dry and aren't sending me any information, except dancing spots.

Why won't it stop! How long has it been? A minute? Someone make it stop, Fuck's sake!

I try to walk away, to move, to speak, anything. Doesn't work. Feel like my muscles turned to stone.

Then, the burning in my hand and foot vanish as I start shaking wildly. Feels a lot like hypothermia -in bursts-, except only about half my nerves are telling me I'm freezing, the rest seems to think I'm on fire. At least _most_ of the pain is gone.

After what seems to be an hour, the spasms finally stop too and I can see again, although the reception is crappy and I'm only getting a black and white image.

Wait, what?

I don't know how being drunk feel, but if it's anything like this, I'm so never touching alcohol.

_Worst. Plan. Ever._

Yeah, but it worked.

I push myself off the ground, bones replaced by lead, and sit as Kyle picks up a stunstick from a downed guard. He tests it on the guard, who moans and curls into a ball, then turns to me.

"You okay, Toasterguy?" The Shark asks, handing me the second weapon.

I grab the thing and take his hand, "Just a bit crispy." I joke as he pulls me to my feet. "How long you think they'll be out?"

"Not long; you got up fairly quick and you're about half their size."

With that in mind, I set to take away their helmets and keys while Kyle keeps watch.

The first helmet takes a while to figure out; it's like a pill bottle, push and twist, although I have to zap the guard back to unconsciousness halfway through.

The man is definitely not UNSC; he has long hairs, a piercing in the lower lip and a goatee. I look at Kyle confirms it.

"Innies," He spits, "Bastards got some guts coming on _our_ planet!"

I zap the second guard for more safety –and fun- and quickly remove his helmet.

Bald with a spider tattooed on his scalp.

"Guess it ate his brain." Kyle scoffs.

I grab both sets of keys and head out, tossing one to the Shark.

"Let's get to others out of here."

Kyle nods and jogs to the cell right in front of ours.

I pick up my boot and limp after him, locking the cell behind us. Meanwhile, he finally unlocks the door to the other cell…

…And gets pounced by Abby. She start hitting and punching Kyle, who can only hold his arms up in defense, I'm not sure what she's yelling, but I think it's Spanish.

"Man, do something!" He cries between two blows.

Yeah, we don't have time to play. I lean on the wall smirk.

I must admit, seeing Kyle get the crap kicked out of him is immensely satisfying.

"Abby, it's a Shark, stop punching him."

She gives me a puzzled look.

"Of course it's a Shark, but why should I stop punching?"

"Because I'm telling you to!" Iona yells from a cell, to the left.

Abe pouts but gets off Kyle who's bitching is interrupted when my brain finally catch up with reality.

"Abby, why aren't you tied up?"

She scoff, "Untied myself."

"How?"

"Shitty knot?"

...Guess that makes sense. I peak in her cell.

"Why didn't you untie Shark boy too?" I ask upon recognizing the guy I shot in the neck earlier.

"Didn't feel like it… And he didn't say please."

Okay…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Out the Big Door<strong>

* * *

><p>Once everyone is free and I am done cutting ropes with my scalpel –and answering incredulous questions as to how I got the thing in the first place-, we all form a circle and begin planning our escape. The sharks want to beat everyone in the facilityship/sewer to a pulp, Iona just wants to get the hell out.

"They're Innies!" Adrian objects, "We can't just let them get away!"

"And if they catch us back, we won't be able to warn the others! And it might still be an exercise, you know the chief!"

I hate to contradict Iona, but I still have to point out the outdated gear and unprofessional attitude.

"Doesn't matter, we still have to warn the Chief about these guys."

"Aye, we'll probably get to whack some dumb cunts in the process." Bob points out.

So, escape it is! There is a short consensus as to who should have the stunsticks and, in the end, everyone decides me and Kyle are the best suited, so we both take point with the others ready to jump in the fray should things go bad.

After about five minutes of poking around without meeting anyone, Bob squeezes between Trevor, Fal and Adrian to walk between me and Kyle.

"Oi, Chris!" the sniper begins, apparently not sure how to say what he has on his mind, "Uhm, I just want to say, I'm sorry I dropped the ball back there…"

I lean at a corner, no guards, just pipes, steam and steel.

"What do you mean?"

We move past the cloud of steam and I pause just one second to analyze the hallway.

Door on the right, ten steps away, corridor splits in two, five steps further. No threat.

"Well, I said I had you covered, but they jumped us … It won't happen again, mate."

As Kyle checks what's beyond the door, I turn to face Bob.

"Shit happens, buddy, we're just ten, I don't know what you expect. You made a mistake, the same as I did, we thought there was only Shark and us in the area, so these bastards jumped us easily. We're not making that mistake again."

The sniper nods slowly before returning to the rear, just as Kyle decides that's the janitor closet.

We take the left branch and reach another door, this one locked by a keypad.

"Shit," Adrian curses while checking the thing, "Dead end, we'll have to go back."

Abby shoves him aside and grins.

"Leave it to the professional, cabrone, no keypad is a match for my leet haxor skeelz!"

The Shark leader gives me a 'What the fuck?' look and I shrug.

Wish I knew.

As our favorite Latin batshit uses my scalpel to rape the door –for a lack of better term-, Kyle and I take position at the bend, stun sticks at the ready and ears wide open.

"We're not on a ship." Kyle notes after a few seconds.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, no engine."

I look at him but don't say anything.

"Come on, you've never been on a ship?"

"Once, was too high to remember it though… Think they brainwashed me."

He smiles awkwardly and continues his explanation, "Ship engines are loud, even when they're not moving, you can feel it in your feet. I don't feel it now."

Interesting theory.

Speaking of which, things are starting to seem weird. No guards, no cameras, no alarms. What's this? Sewers or prison? And steam pipes on Onyx? No, wait, Innies on Onyx? From what Mendez told us, this planet doesn't exist and anyone who says otherwise better be sure no one hears them.

And those two amateurs in the cell back there with their outdated military vacuum suits and dock worker looks, is it all the innies expect it will take to stop twelve Spartan trainees?

A shouted "Open Sesame!" ends my train of thought. Abby opened the door, it seems, or had a brain spasm, I don't know.

Kyle and I keep watch until Iona tells us to fall back, then we jog trough the sliding door and end up in… a hangar bay.

"It's a ship." Kyle concedes.

Two Longswords, a Pelican, weapon crates, perfectly clean deck and walls, UNSC emblem all over the place.

"Where did these guys get all this stuff!" Trevor's voice echoes in the large room.

Iona jogs over to the Pelican –having to duck under the Longsword's huge wing on the way- and we follow her as she explains the overall situation.

"Doesn't matter, there's no engine sound, so we're on a planet. With some luck, on Onyx." She runs up the ramp and I turn around to guard the ship. I'll get in only when I'm sure we're ready to leave, wouldn't want one of Loki's boys sneaking up on us.

Behind me, Iona continues distributing orders, "Abby, you took piloting course last week, you certified yet?"

"Certifiable? Or can I fly this thing?"

"Abby!" Iona's not the type who gets angry easily, but Abe's one of the very rare person who manages to piss her off.

"Okay, okay, calma te, I'm on it!"

I think it's funny how she uses Spanish words every now and then, even though she can speak perfect English, I wonder if she'll ever stop, though, because that makes Curtis real mad.

"Chris!"

I look at Iona over my shoulder.

"Yes?"

"I need you to go open the hangar doors, in the control room."

"What control room?"

She walks out of the Pelican and point to the left, over the first Longsword.

There's a room with an airlock and large windows. Steel staircase twisting its way up right under the small room.

Why is it to the hangar door's left anyway? Shouldn't it be directly in front of it or something?

"Uh… I'm on it."

How could I miss something like that? Good thing we work in team or I'd be stuck in here running in small circles.

I dash under the longsword's wing and climb half the stairs before tripping and slamming face first on the metal spikes meant to keep boots from slipping.

The whole right side of my face flares in pain and I slide down four stairs, scratching and cutting my cheek along the way.

Ow!

Two seconds later, I'm up and climbing slightly less hastily than before.

The door hisses open as I reach the last step.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going as fast as I can." I groan at the inanimate objects pressuring me.

Once I'm in front of the console, I am faced with a slight understanding problem; I had expected 'Open' 'Close' buttons, yet it seems all there is here are switches and levers without any indication as to their respective purposes.

Okay… The hangar doors are all that keep workers from being sucked into vacuum, so it must be controlled by something that doesn't poke out and is easily identifiable, to avoid accidents.

There is a large red handle to the left, it seems like the kind you see with the words 'Emergency Release' on them in most Pelicans…

I pull it down and…

An alarm blares across the cargo room while the doors slides open, revealing Onyx's dense forest beyond.

Oh… Shit, that sound's going to attract every single innies in the ship! Good thing is, I won't die by vacuum once I leave this room.

I rush out the door, climb down half the stairs before jumping over the side, landing on the Longsword's wing.

On the othe side of the interceptor, I see the dropship rise slowly and turn so that its access ramp is aligned with the longsword's right wing.

Iona and Adrian are both standing on the ramp and waving their arms frantically.

_That's right, bro, RUN!_

I sprint across the hull and, just as I reach the beginning of the second wing –the one that leads right to the Pelican-, I hear Iona's voice:

"Chris, down!"

No need to tell me twice; I drop on my ass, sliding on the perfectly flat wing, as a thunder of 'pings' and 'clangs' erupt around me and bullets bounce off the Longsword's armor.

Fuckfuckfuck-fuckity-_fuck_!

I lose my momentum halfway there and need to crawl the rest under my fellow Spartans' cheers.

Yeah, right, go Chris! Next time, let someone else open the damn door.

Even at the tip of the wing, bullets wheeze past me and fragments of what I think is rubber scrape and pick the exposed skin of my face, neck, hands and ankles, the whole shit coupled with the fact my right eye is now covered in blood.

Go Chris indeed.

"Come on, man!" Adrian yells over the gunfight, "Jump!"

There's a two meters gap between the wing and the ramp. How the fuck am I supposed to jump that from a prone position?

Answer? I need to stand. Under heavy fire from rubber riot rounds and without any kind of protection.

Hey, I should have thought about that _before_ I signed up.

I stand, shielding my face, and earn a searing spike of pain in my left flank, followed by one just under my shoulder.

As I jump the gap, arms ready to grab onto anything within reach, a shot hits me in the jaw and everything goes red for a split second.

When my eyesight returns to normal, I'm slipping down the ramp and flailing my arms around wildly, looking for some kind of grip.

Just as my lower body slips off the Pelican, somebody stomps hard on my right wrist, causing a pretty worrying crack, but stopping my fall in the process.

Adrian. He smiles as I look up, holding himself onto a cargo netting.

"Gottcha!"

For a second, I think he' going to kick me off, but he just hold me there as Kyle and Fal rush to help me into the dropship.

A few seconds later, we're all sitting on the floor, laughing our asses off.

Iona checks my face and stops laughing.

"Damn! You've got the worst luck ever!"

"Yeah, but at least I'm not called Bob." I answer, wiping the blood from my eye and causing another burst of pain.

"Get stuffed." Is the only answer I get from the sniper.

That makes the Sharks laugh.

Well, it seems years of rivalry _can_ be ended by having a common enemy.

Now if only the Innies could get that one.

Fal punched Adrian in the face without warning and laugh at his confused expression.

Okay, maybe it's not that simple.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: S2's SIIIs<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[September 2546]-<strong>

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Mendez's Office]-**

Curtis and Connors were both sitting in Mendez's office, feeling like kids about to get grounded.

The Chief was smoking a Sweet William cigar and reading the report for the fourth time, perfectly calm despite the circumstances.

"So," He finally began, putting his cigar in an ash tray, "Your two groups suddenly start working together, manage to disable two Army Spec Ops officers and lock them up in the ship's brig before somehow leaving their training area, steal a Pelican, crash it in the courtyard and get out screaming they were abducted by Insurrectionists… Could one of you please explain to me just how that happened?"

Both trainers exchanged and equally confused look, but it was Connors who spoke first:

"Senior Chief Petty Officer, I'm afraid our monitoring equipment was not set up at the time; we have no idea how they escaped other than what the two guards said."

Mendez leaned back in his seat and took a long drag of smoke.

"Erik, are you still convinced about the Section Two project?" He asked the older instructor, who's mood suddenly seemed to lighten up.

"Absolutely, now more than ever, sir! Although I think that'd be up to Curtis…"

The concerned instructor blinked twice and looked at the two men with total incomprehension.

"You see," Mendez sat upright while talking around his cigar, "Connors has been pestering me ever since your little fight began to remove your trainees from the competition to SPECWAR…"

Curtis' face became red at that and he was about to defend his kids when the Chief shut him up with a wave of his hand.

"… And assign them to a prototype project of ONI Section Two."

"Wha…" Curtis made a quick mental review of what he knew about S2; ONI's public face, in charge of maintaining morale and the ones behind the SPARTANs MIA protocol. "What project, sir?"

"Spartans are stuff of legends in the colonies, and like every legend, they are slowly fading away. Peoples are doubting there is any left beyond Sierra-117 and they are somewhat right. We must show them that the UNSC is still looking after its own, that we're not dead yet, which is why Section Two wants a small squad of Spartans to work in tandem with a Marine division, fight in broad daylight, for all to see, kill covenants by the hundreds and laugh about it, peoples our soldiers will look up to, but who'll still do their job flawlessly.

The Sharks were the first choice, but Connors convinced me Orca is better suited.

Now, the real question is; Do you think they're up for it?"

000000000000

**-[September 2546]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Infirmary]-**

Lucy, the nurse, checks my face and turns to Fal.

"You're going to lose your title as the team's Scarface if you let him wrestle every single inanimate object he comes across!"

Fal just shrugs and Lucy turns back to me.

The only other trainee wounded enough to require medical aid is the Shark girl; she caught a stun stick in the face during the crash. Lucy just finished bandaging her head and had her enumerate every muscle in the human body by name, to keep her awake.

I don't remember much of the crash, because I cushioned Trevor's landing with my face, but I remember Curtis' bewildered expression. He wasn't glad to see we were fine; he wondered why we were back so soon.

"So," The nurse checks the result of my scan, "broken wrist, cracked rib, severe epidermal damage _to the face_, somewhat important blood loss _to the face_, second degree burns to the hand and foot _and face_, signs of a very nasty electrocution and possible head trauma… _To the face…_" She looks at me, then the chart, "…What the heck are you on, Chris? I've seen Marines go down from less than that!" She muses in an incredulous tone.

"I'm a Spartan, Ma'am." This earns me a 'Boo-ya!' from Bob, Abby and Trevor as well as most Sharks.

Lucy nods and scratches her chin, "Well, I suppose that's a good enough explanation, just remember, while being tough is nice, not getting hit is always nicer. When you get in combat, don't rely on your ability to take as much punishment as a tank, you're small enough to use cover and smart enough not to get shot, use that and keep your superman stuff as back up, okay?"

I nod slowly. I never heard Lucy being that serious before, seems like she knows something we don't.

I try to find some sort of double meaning to her words, but give up after a minute. I'll probably find out soon enough anyway.

0000000000000

**-[July 2548]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Projection Room 6]-**

An holographic teacher stands on the table, teaching students she can't see or hear. She speaks Korean, I hate Korean, but understand nonetheless.

"This theory poses that every colony should focus on whatever they are the most skilled at and outsource all other productions to exterior markets. A sound strategy on the paper, but as you've seen, many colonies are left out by this method and the UNSC's general production is not optimal…"

Fal leans closer, "Why?"

Abby tried to explain a minute earlier, but ended up confusing Fal even further.

"Let's say Reach can produce a thousand tons of lettuce or a hundred warships, while Sigma Octanus can produce nine hundred lettuces or fifty warships… Makes sense that Octanus would make veggies and Reach warships, even though Reach can produce more lettuce, yeah?"

She blinks, then shakes her head, "Can't be that simple…"

"It's simple, instead of focusing on what you're good at, you should focus on what everyone else is good at and ensure you get the most production into the global network."

"It's teamwork, then?"

"Basically."

And we've just spent an hour learning the basis of teamwork.

There's forty of us in this room, all of which understand this concept since before they even entered this room.

We're not learning abstract concepts here, we're actually being taught which colony does what, which one can be sacrificed, which one is vital to humanity's economy and exactly what would happen if we lost each.

Some would cripple our starship production; others would prevent merchants and warships from re-fueling, effectively severing entire sectors from the UNSC. Has happened already, whole swaths of human population just out of reach.

Reach is vital, of course, by its strategic position on Earth's doorstep and in that it allows us to project forces all over the Orion arm, we lose it, the war's over, we can't do shit but wait for the Covenants to finish us off…

Humanity spreads in every direction, no just Orion, we'd still have hundreds of colonies if they took Earth, but these would have no organisation, no economy, barely any production and would soon be flooded by refugees, which would lead the Covenants straight to the biggest All You Can Eat in the galaxy.

"As you now understand, public relationships and morale are vital parts of the war effort; people must go to work, investors must maintain their confidence, the market must not collapse, or so will the economy and the production, mankind would lose the war because it could no longer pay for its fleets' maintenance fees."

That's why they revealed the SPARTAN-II Program, instigated the MIA protocol and broadcast only images of victory; wouldn't want investors to see that multi-billion suit they paid for get trashed by a well-place plasma mortar shot…

Makes sens, all that PR bullshit, the psychology class we must take every Monday, they want us to look good, keep the confidance high and the money flowing.

The course ends in a flash of statics and we're brutally awakened by halogen lights lining the ceiling suddenly puking electric illumination throughout the room.

Bob's got only one question, that he asks no one in particular:

"We actually getting paid for this?"

0000000000000

**-[November 2550]-**

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[10 Kilometers South of Camp Currahee]-**

**-[Playground 4]-**

Twigs crack under thick boots. A few adjustments thicken the soles, reducing noise to a minimum, though at the cost of traction.

The SPI's adaptable camo takes the texture of concrete as I hug the compound wall.

The thing stretches on twenty meters before reaching a spot where the electric fence _–more like electric barbed wire… Atop a ten foot wall… Yeah, they really don't want us going in there- _is within reach, thanks to a tree growing close to it.

"Boss, got a spot." I whisper in my comm.

Iona winks her acknowledgment light and I facepalm my visor.

She fucking loves those lights, it's unbelievable, yesterday she tried to wink them at me while I had my helmet off… And she was just two meters away!

Bet she tries to wink them even when we're not suited up!

A knee to the ground, I bring the MA5K's iron sights in line with my visor and survey the woods, my heartbeat and slow breath for only company.

The SPI's air filters do their job, scrubbing all heat and vapor before exhaling my oxygen. Before we had these, I actually had to keep snow in my mouth to prevent the small white puffs from giving me away.

Abby appears from the forest at my left, holding a large duffel bag. She flashes her wrist-light twice in a slow rotation and I do the same.

"What do you have in there?"

"Presents, cabrone," She laughs, running two fingers over her visor, "Can't you see I'm Papa Santa?"

Whatever. I bring the MA5K back up and cover her while she does… Whatever it is she does.

Climbing with a SPI armor is a pain in the ass, and Abe is very vocal about it during her ascension.

We learned Spanish long ago… Well, let's just say I always did get the overall meaning, but never suspected there were so many mentions of goat in it.

By the time she's up, Fal and Bob have finally reached us.

The sniper shows us the pictures of the compound he took from a tall tree.

Five buildings, one warthog, no guards, no sentry…

"Whole place is deserted." I note, taking the holocamera from Bob.

Iona, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, takes it from me without a word.

"Might be a trap…" She mutters before nodding, "Yeah, definitely a trap… Chris, you'll go first with Fal, disarm it if possible, if not, just spot and report it to us. If things go south, run your asses back here, we'll complete the mission while they go after you, got it?"

I just shrug, "One of these days, I'll be used as something else than human meatshield and that day, mankind will finally recognize my genius!"

Bob runs his fingers on his visor at that and I return the gesture.

A few seconds later, Fal and Trevor arrive from the east and south respectively.

"What did we miss?" The big guy asks, re-adjusting his grenade belts. Yeah, belts, with an S. He just loves explosions.

I point to Fal, "You just got volunteered for a suicide mission."

She shrugs and tosses her shotgun on her shoulders. "Will I get to blast something?"

"Most likely."

"Count me in." Never was her choice to begin with.

We all look up to Abby, who's hooking boosting cables to the electrified fence from where she's hanging upside down on the branch.

"Si, si, I'm going as fast as I can, puta madre…" she whines upon noticing we're all staring at her.

I think the idea is to avoid triggering an alarm by just cutting the fence; she needs to make sure the power still flows once we remove a part of the barbed wire, thus the boosting cables… Unless she just doesn't want to get zapped.

Anyway, it takes her another minute to finish whatever it is she's doing, but when she finally cuts off the wire, nothing happens, which is good.

"Six, Four, you're on, Recon and fall back, you have ten minutes, after that, we're going in guns blazing." Iona announces.

Fal has no problem reaching the first branch and climbing from there using just raw strength, but I need to jump twice before reaching it, from there, however, everything goes smoothly; I'm a good climber, just not as good as Bob.

Once we're both past the wall and in the long grasses surrounding the camp, Fal slaps my shoulder and wave her hand above her head once in a quick and precise gesture. I nod and flick my MA5K's selector to semi-auto before sweeping the area while she moves forward with her shotgun in hands.

No one really knows where she obtained the silenced M90 CAWS or why no instructor ever tried to take it from her, but I suspect both have something to do with her… Unique attitude.

Frankly, the only thing that really surprises me is the silencer; I didn't know they made some for shotguns too.

"Careful, guys," Iona's voice whispers in my ear, "We're using live rounds this time, the tangos probably will too."

Fucking A. I can hear Fal's evil giggles over the comm.

It seems some of us are more eager to go into real combat as others…

Something moves, near a window, but closer inspection tells me it's just a bird.

…Not that I don't want to fight, I've been training for it all my life, but Iona and Curtis taught me that battle is actually only ten percent of the possible ways of disabling a threat; there is diplomacy, manipulation, bribe, intimidation, assassination… Direct confrontation with the Innies and Covies seems like a waste of SPARTANs to me.

There is three hundred of us, if ONI could identify every leader of the two faction and sent only two of us after each of them, we'd end this war in a year flat, but that'd be putting a lot of trust in unstable, revenge hungry orphans and would require so much resources the UNSC would be unable to defend itself.

Economics of war. I hate it, we're putting our lives on the line for these civvies, the least they could do is pay their goddamn taxes and do what they're told!

Nevertheless, we'll have to settle for frontline duty, to Fal's immense pleasure.

As for the others… Well, Iona has the utmost trust in HIGHCOM, so if they say we're more useful on the front, she agrees. Abby thinks she'd be most useful reverse engineering Covenant tech, but is too nutty for a lab job, so she can forget it.

Bob and Trevor are harder to read; Trevor simply says he'll never shoot a fellow human unless he's directly threatening his friends and Bob just keeps cracking wises about it.

I think it's his way to cope with the fact he'll have to see his victim's face before taking the shot and most probably have to shoot peoples who weren't even shooting at him.

"Hey, Chris." Fal calls on the comm., sounding just as cold as she always does.

I wink my acknowledgment light green.

"I walked on a mine."

With a short sigh, I open a channel, "On my way, don't move."

Flicking my selector back to Full auto, I crouch-walk across the grasses for about ten meters before walking on something hard myself.

"Fuck. This is Orca Four, the place's a minefield, Orca, standby."

"You need assistance, Four?" Iona asks, worriedly.

"I don't know, One, I'll take a look at that little bastard and report, Four out."

Leaning forward a bit, careful not to shift my weight to much, I push the grasses aside.

It's not a mine, it's a pressure plate, an alarm system.

"Fal, retreat!" I scream in my comm.

The shotgun wielding Spartan does as told and breaks into a sprint, heading for my position. Nothing happens for a second; she's halfway there when two black dots appear in the sky.

"Down!" Fal barks when she's just a few meters away before hitting the ground herself.

Two V67 VTOL drones scream over us a second latter, spitting rubber all over our position.

I wink my acknowledgment light green twice and Fal does the same. Then, we stand as one and open fire on the drones in perfect synchronism, if in completely different manners.

I take stroke the sensitive trigger every second, leading my target with all the calm I can muster in that moment. Fal just pisses buckshots in the sky like World War two AA guns.

The VTOLs hover around for a second before facing us and straffing our position once more, creating waves in the tall grass, starting five meters ahead and crawling closer as the machines draw closer.

We both roll out of the way a split second before the stream of rubber reaches us and resume firing at the flying machines, to little effect.

Fal slaps my chest and load slugs in her shotgun while slowly moving closer to the drones.

I get the hint and remove my silencer.

It's so hot, the grass shrivels and darkens when I toss is on the ground.

Now making a lot of noise and light and get designated primary target by the machines. They rear up like horses and steady themselves to adjust their fire, hovering above ground and rocking back and forth with each shot.

I need to dance and crawl around a lot more now, some bullets still pinging off my armor in the process.

Hurry the _fuck_ up, Fal, I can only take so much rubber…

Of course, right after that thought, a sledgehammer hits me in the back as a third drone opens fire. Take a guess what at.

I roll on the ground and spin around; the bot is barely a few meters away and spitting thumb sized rounds from his twin Gatling canons.

I line up the red dots of my sights with the big sensor bulb and squeeze a four bullet burst in it, shredding the Plexiglas casing and blinding the thing.

It still keeps firing blindly and almost six rounds hit me square in the face, cracking my visor and fucking up my HUD before I can jump out of the firing line.

Although they are farther and their bullets pack less punch, forgetting about the two other drones seem to have been a mistake; I get showered in surprisingly accurate fire the moment I recover, forcing me to dive in the grass again.

Once the bullet stream somewhat diminishes, I push myself to a knee and return fire, once again forcing the robots to dance around and use evasive maneuvers.

That is, until Fal fills them both with .38 slugs, turning the two advanced pieces of UNSC tech into piles of glorified scrap metal.

"C'mon, Chris, let's fall back." She breathes in the radio, a few seconds later.

We jog our way to the breach in the wall, taking down two more drones on the way, and quickly climb a rope the others were kind enough to leave for us when they got trough.

The drones don't follow, so we both hide in the wood and wait for the all clear by the others.

I run my hand along the crack in my visor, just over the left eye, and sigh. Curtis will be pissed.

Something moves to my right, and I aim my gun at it, but it's just some kind of rat or squirrel.

Fucking wildlife is gonna give me a heart attack one of these day.

"Four, Six, mission accomplished; we've got the package, head over to extraction and secure the area, Three and Five will link up with you there."

"Roger that, One, Oscar Mike." Fal answers as we get out of hiding and head east toward the landing area.

The woods are thick, but Mendez taught us how to maneuver in them the same way panthers and wolves do; you have to impregnate yourself of the environment, find its natural paths and not try to muscle in, become part of it and you'll be able to navigate it's veins without a single sound.

It takes a shitload of focus too, to avoid walking on dry leaves, twigs or hitting low branches…

Despite the three meters spread between us, I can hear a few cracks where Fal's focus was… insufficient…

"Stop smiling." She hisses on the comm.

"How do you know I'm smiling?"

"I know you."

I'm still grinning when we reach the clearing that serves as an extraction area. Fal smacks me for smiling and moves in while I cover her, this time keeping my eyes on the sky.

She circles around like a caged predator, daring any possible ambusher to try and jump her, although anyone in his right mind would slowly ease away at the sight.

Since nothing happens, she throws a green smoke grenade and crouches next to it.

Five seconds later, half a dozen drones appear from the trees, spitting a steady stream of rubber.

They are only going after Fal, which leaves me completely free to take aim at their sensor bulbs and blind them one after another.

They shine in the sunlight, sparkling all over my cracked HUD.

Short controlled bursts take out the first wave before Fal can fire a shot.

The second wave counts eight drones and this time, half of them are heading my way. I take one down before having to duck behind a tree trunk. A peek around it reveals three shiny dots angrily maneuvering to flank my position… I'm about to relocate when the drone sparkle under a shower of small caliber rounds; Abby's SMG.

While they are distracted, I blind one and duck back to cover. We repeat the process three more time, ignoring a set of loud pops, and finish the flying bots with ease.

Further down the clearing, the four that went after Fal got filled with shrapnel from Trevor's grenade launcher, which upsets the shotgun girl to no end.

"Kill stealer!" She hisses at Trevor as he gets out of the woods.

The large Spartan just shrugs, "Did not see your name on 'em..." Trev's accent is still there, but only because he likes it, the slow, broken speech puts the fear of god in whoever stands up to him.

I exchange a high five with Abe on the way to the smoke and laugh as Trevor keeps Fal away with one hand on her helmet, big brother styled, while she trashes about trying to get to him.

If she really wanted, of course, she could tear him to shreds, but Fal, despite her very aggressive behavior, would never hurt one of us.

Anyone outside Orca team, however, is fair game as far as she's concerned.

The dropship arrives pretty much at that moment, so Trevor lets go of Fal's forehead. She crashes face first in the ground.

"I hate you a lot." Comes the inevitable groan as she wipes dirt off her dome-shaped visor. She then gives Iona the all clear signal, our own four note tune.

Our boss comes out of the bushes a second later, quickly followed by Bob, both of them carrying a large coffin-like… Thing… What's that supposed to be anyway?

They shrug when I ask them and just throw the thing in the back of the Pelican before climbing in.

Trevor and I cover the others while they board and both sit on the edge of the ramp when the thing take off. Trev's afraid of heights, so he retracts his feet and hold onto a cargo strap.

I'm not really courageous, but I sat here often enough to stop worrying, so I just wraps my had around a strap and leave my legs hang in the wind, my assault rifle ready, in case the Chief has any other surprises for us.

Hell, I got thrown out that same ramp on my first year, this is nothing in comparison.


	3. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11: The Next Level**

* * *

><p><strong>-[April 2551]-<strong>

**-[Onyx]-**

**-[ SPARTAN-III Training Facility]-**

**-[Cantina]-**

Abby finishes explaining what she found about project Chrysanthemum or whatever and we just stare at her. My fork clatters on the floor.

Iona talks first and expresses exactly all our thoughts: "Huh?"

Abejundio settles between Iona and Bob, swapping their tray aside to squeeze hers in.

"I said; they are going to inject psychotropic drugs in our frontal lobe."

Despite all my efforts, I look at Fal before answering, "Why? We're not nuts enough as it is?"

"Why you looked at me before saying that?"

"No reason."

Abby shrugs and continues, "Ambrose erased all files about that, but I managed to salvage some bits of it in Deep Winter's memory core. We'll have to take anti-psychotics on a regular basis to prevent us from losing it. It's still very dangerous, but it's supposed to make us even stronger and tougher…" She then explains its actions, side effects and all in a hushed tone. It's not pretty, and it's illegal.

No way. No _fucking_ way! I didn't train all these years and suffer so much to be turned into some kind of remote controlled psycho! I'm a soldier, fuck's sake, I need my mind to be clear if I want to do my job, and doing my job correctly is all I'm fucking asking from them in exchange of all the sacrifices I've made.

My legs move on their own, pulling me off the chair and across the cantina, straight for the officer's mess. Good idea, let's give the Commander a pieve of my mind. What's he going to do? Fire me? Just as well!

"Where you going like that?" The MP at the door asks, putting a hand on my chest, as if it would stop me.

I grab his thumb with two fingers, press a pressure point in his wrist with another and twist his arm behind his back as he contorts in pain. One kick on his ass sends him through the door, crashing straight in Curtis' plate.

Hah! Karma's a bitch.

Every officer in the room stares at me and the only comment I hear is "Told you the MP was useless."

Curtis stands and I expect him to scream or something like that, but he just removes the MP from the table while Connors tells the other two instructors at their table to give us some space.

The rest of the room resumes eating as if nothing happened, even Kurt and Mendez don't seem to care. Connors and Curtis sit back at their place and motion for me to take a seat as well.

For some reason, the absence of violent reaction to my brutal entry makes me feel stupid, like a spoiled child unworthy of attention, so I sit, trying not to let my shame show and focus on the anger that brought me here.

Right away, I start pleading my cause, blurting out whatever arguments I made up in that whole three seconds I spent planning. "I…Listen, sir, I, well, knew what you… What would be… Going to happen to me when I signed up and I accepted it, the pain, the sacrifices." I take a pause before continuing, this time bit less crankily, "I know my role and I'll fill it until my dying breath, but this thing you want to do to us, it won't do, sir, we're Spartans, not attack dogs you can tame and breed for whichever traits suit you!" I stop to take my breath and Curtis jumps on the opportunity.

"I had expected Iona or Fal…" He admits, grinning, "I must say, Chris, you were the last one I figured would protest and I never thought you'd demolish a Marine in the process." He sounds proud. Blood fills my ears and my eyes refuse to leave the spilled milk slowly trickling off the table.

Connors leans forward, smiling too. "I knew it'd be you, you just made me win fifty bucks."

"Whatever," Curtis hisses, "Chris, I want you to go tell the other that your team will not be injected with this drug, only the 'Regular' Spartans will get it."

Bullshit!

"Why?"

"To inject it in you guys would be… Counter productive."

He exchanges an unsure look with Connors and they both look at Mendez, who nods once.

Connors leans closer and whispers the rest in my ear, "You're being transferred to ONI Section two straight after augmentation, you'll be working in tandem with Marines and appear everywhere on the news, this means making you a bunch of cranky psychos would give a bad image and supplying you with the counter agents hard and risky."

Curtis also admits the missions we'll be sent on won't be as dangerous as those the rest of the company will get, so we won't need the extra boost. He also mentions that we shouldn't tell anyone about it, since even the other instructors don't know about it.

"Satisfied?" He asks, once the speech is done. I just nod. "Then get the fuck out of here, Spartan, and get your ass in gear, we're leaving for the orbital facility in ten. Dismiss!" He roars, back in 'Drill Instructor' mode.

I leave the Mess, under the inquisitive looks of the whole company.

"Uh... Thought he was a Grunt in disguise. My bad." I state, before walking back to my place.

Funny how no one asks me what really happened, nor why I did that… They aren't curious enough for their own good and soon, they'll all be barely more than UNSC equipment, addicted to combat drugs and barely in control of their own actions.

I take my place between Fal and Trevor, nicking a carrot from the big guy's tray as I go.

"So, what's up?" Iona asks, calmly.

"Well," I swallow my bite before continuing, "They have actual chairs in there."

"Chris…"

"Oh, that!" I look around and chew on the inside of my lip, trying to explain the situation. "We're being transferred to ONI, so we won't need it."

They look at each other for a split second before catching up.

"And the others?" Trevor sounds worried.

"They'll get the whole package and funnier missions."

He doesn't like the answer, but we all understand the principle of necessary sacrifice, and we all know what happened to Alpha and Beta.

That still disgusts me.

000000000000

**-[April 2551]-**

**-[Onyx's Orbit]-**

**-[Project CHRYSANTEMUM/AO Space Station]-**

**-[Room G051]-**

The cold metal corridor stretches a dozen steps ahead and I step forward, data chip in hand and bare feet clapping on the metal floor. The thing is long, painfully so, and empty, and cold, especially since I'm just wearing an hospital gown. They shaved my head too.

I'm alone, for some reason. It's the first time I feel really alone in six years. I wish Iona or Trevor were here… Hell I'd settle for Bob!

The door hisses open just in time so I don't bump in it, revealing what could easily pass for a torture table, with drills, syringes, tubes and clamps… One hundred percent survivability, Mendez said.

That doesn't make me feel that much better anymore.

The hospital gown hit the floor with a sound of paper being crushed.

I lounge on the table and put my arms on the intended supports before laying my head on some sort of metal clutch. Not comfortable…

My eyes closed, I try to steady my breath while waiting for it to start.

It doesn't.

I'm still clutching the chip… I hope it doesn't short out from all the sweat in my hands.

Sitting up and inserting it must be the single most difficult thing I've ever done.

Then, after I set my head down, it starts.

A mechanical sound fills my ears as two shiny rods appear in my peripheral vision, slowly making their way toward my temples. I feel like a tomb is closing on my as mechanical arm slowly close around me from all sides.

Pain in my legs and arms makes me look down. I can't move my head, though, so I can barely peek and fear is troubling my vision.

Tubes on my thighs and tibias are pumping brightly colored fluids in my veins while a pair of needles in my forearms seems to fill me with molten rock… At least it burns as if they were, the veins they are connected to are turning bright purple, however…

The burning sensation is horrible, but it's nothing compared to the agony of the drills connecting with my temples. The vibration sends waves and waves of vivid pain straight to my brain, it's so intense the gums of my tooth hurt too, my eyes are watering, but instead of tears, blood comes out. I clench my fist and try not to do the same with my jaw, wouldn't want to lose a teeth.

It's long, horrible and my ears are filled with wet sounds as well as 'crunches' the drills make while piercing my skull, but I stay conscious the whole time.

Then, the machines retract, but the pain remains. It burns trough my body, my eyes hurt like someone was sticking hot fire poker trough them, my fingers feel so hot I'd swear they're on fire and I can't even feel my legs.

Soon, the burn is replaced by a simple throbbing pain and I can see once again. First thing I do is take a deep breath, but my lungs hurt too, they also feel stiff, if that's possible, my whole body actually feels like a boulder…

My hand automatically wipes my eyes, but there's nothing; no tears, no blood, nothing. Odd.

Sitting up, I massage my neck… The skin is hard and soft, like wood, but supple. I press it with my fingers, tentatively.

Damn, feels like there is rock underneath! My shoulders roll with ease, earning a new wave of pain, and, jumping off the table, I execute a few stretches with my upper body.

As hard and strong as my new muscles are, I'm still as flexible as I used to. It just feels… Stronger…

Lucy appears from the door and smiles upon seeing me.

"You never cease to amaze me, Chris," She laughs, "just received an extremely invasive medical procedure that alters most of your body and first thing you do? A bit of Yoga!"

Smiling, I sit down feeling very tired all of a sudden, and smile. "How are the others?"

"Most passed out about halfway into the procedure, but will wake up soon enough. Fal toughed it through, but she needs to move around in a wheel chair for now; her body is having trouble adjusting to its new abilities…"

She reads something on her glasses and frown. With my luck, I'll have grown a vagina or some shit.

"What color are your eyes?"

What? Uh… Damn… It takes a lot of focus, but I finally remember, "Brown."

Lucy takes a step forward and squint to inspect my eyes correctly.

"Not anymore, they're maroon-brown now…"

Maroon? That's close to blood red… I guess that's why I thought my eyes were bleeding.

"So," I begin, using all my strength just to drag my body back on the table, "How am I doing?"

"Well, except for the change in eye pigmentation, your body adjusted flawlessly; a good night sleep and you'll be completely combat ready…"

Something in her voice, faked inflexions, tiny shivers near the lips and eyes… Oh shit.

"Which is why you're here, right?"

I fight to keep my eyes open long enough for her to answer.

"Yeah, after you wake up, we'll have a first assignment for you."

"Wh…" I fight back a yawn, blinking tears away, "Why me?"

"You're the only Spartan who'll be combat ready in time."

Three hundred of us and I'm the only one? Damn!

Curtis walks in, pushing a wheelchair in front of him, so I jump on my feet and stand at attention so fast his facial expression didn't have time to change from boredom to surprise.

"Shi… He's awake?" He asks the nurse, who laughs.

"Of course he is, what did you expect?"

The instructor seems so dumbstruck he forgot what he was coming for. "How can he be up! Even Fal's on her ass!"

I suppress a grin and he finally tells me to stand at ease.

"Can we help you, Petty Officer?" Lucy asks, still smiling.

"Huh?" Curtis is looking at my eyes with a disturbed expression, "Oh! Yeah, I was supposed to get him to the Prowler, but if he can stand…"

I black out pretty much at that moment, but not before hearing Curtis snort, "Guess he can't."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: Chapter 12<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Slip space]-**

**-[UNSC Prowler ****_Dust to Dust_****]-**

**-[-]-**

"Oi, Sparty! Snap out of it, we need to talk!"

Huh? My eyes are not being cooperative, but I manage to take in my surroundings; a ship, a dark one, with red lights all over… Looks like those old submarine movies we watched in history class.

I sit up on my couch. Somehow, the thing's even less comfortable that the surgical table I was on yesterday… Or was it just today?

My sight quickly adjusts, to the point even the poor lighting seems like spotlights. Then I notice a middle aged man in black uniform with the ONI logo on his sleeve; the pyramid thingy... Fuck, even remembering what the logo means hurt!

He smiles and continues, with what seems like a Scottish accent, although I'm so fucked up it could very well be Australian or German, "Good, I thought you'd never wake up!"

"Gnuh?" Is all I manage, still trying to remove the anvil on my brain.

"Sounds like I was right, eh mate? "

That a question? Oh man, my head hurts! Why's the light so bright and why is he yelling?

"The guys said you'd need some time to get used to your new senses, so I got you a cozy spot in the interrogation room; well isolated, poorly lit… Got you a few weights and workout stuff. I wanted to get you some kinky magazines too, but requisition sent Mark Twain stuff instead…" Why won't he stop talking? Oh man, even my skin hurts! "…Guess you can't have everything, eh?"

He stands and look at me, "Sheesh, kid, you don't look so good, I'd send you some sexy nurse to check on that, but all we have is a cook and she's not quite the looker."

I finally manage to summon an answer, "Dude, shut up." Not quite epic, but what the heck.

He laughs and nod, "Good, at least you're alive! Come find me when you're able to walk, we'll get your armor ready."

And with that, he walks out of the room. I can hear every single gear and hydraulics in the automated bulkhead, clicking and hissing with the force of a gunfight as it slides open and closes back.

Then, I hear the groaning of metal as the ship moves forward, resonating like a gong, the buzzing of the red lights screaming like a hornet's nest, the ticking of a clock, sounding like a sniper rifle reloading with the beating of my hearth dominating it all like a drum in a rock concert.

Every single fibers of my body wants to go back to sleep, but I'm not a democracy, so I push myself off the couch and look around the room.

Just like the man said; workout gear, a pile of books and weights are stuffed in their respective corners of the pretty small room. The weights are not an option right now, so I settle on the adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

00000000000000000

**-[April 2551]-**

**-[Onyx's Orbit]-**

**-[Project CHRYSANTEMUM/AO Space Station]-**

**-[Room G316]-**

Fal roared in rage and threw the wheelchair across the room, straight at Trevor, who just swapped it aside.

"Don't fucking tell me to calm the _fuck_ down, Trev!" The Spartan roared from where she now sat on the floor. "You know him, you know he'll get into shit without us backing him up!"

The other Spartan squinted to see through his still recovering eyes. "Chris is strong, he'll handle it." The big guy answered while recovering Fal's wheelchair. One of the wheels bent out of shape.

"Handle what, huh? They won't tell us where he is or why they need him!"

Trevor straightened the wheel with his bare hands, as if it was just plastic, set the chair on the ground and pushed it in Fal's direction.

"Because if they did, you'd hijack the first SF equipped shuttle and go find him."

"Damn fucking straight I would! He's our brother fuck's sake!"

Iona walked in from the corridor to the Rehab gym at that exact moment, perfectly timed, as always. She still needed a cane to walk, but was recovering faster than anyone else, except Chris.

"No, you wouldn't," The dark skinned Spartan snapped, "you're not combat ready yet, you would just endanger your life, his and ours, so you would still sit tight and wait for the doc's green light, clear?"

Iona's tone was hard but warm, bossy, but not bitchy, otherwise, Fal would have bashed her skull on the nearest table. Instead, she just dragged herself on her chair and sighed.

Bob stepped out of a dark corner, carefully; nobodyhad seen him enter and everyone stopped to stare at him.

Bob didn't have problems with his legs, but his eyes were totally off focus, he had to walk around with a cane, although he preferred to just use his still sharp ears.

"Ta-da! Damn I'm good, I should make a show out of it and become rich and fat!"

The others decided to just ignore the sniper and left the room, heading for the dormitories.

Alone in the hospital room, Bob's smile vanished and he finished his sweep. Five bugs, microphones, were crushed and he stepped over to a simple new terminal on the farthest wall. From that terminal, he used Abby's trona horse to take over the station's system and edit the requisition orders sent to the Seongnam factories.

The cost, significantly greater than that of the original requisition, would be fully covered by an untraceable account on Mars. That account belonged to Fal's father, a rich Japanese businessman…

He confirmed the transaction and laughed.

_Formerly _rich Japanese businessman.

00000000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Slip space]-**

**-[UNSC Prowler ****_Dust to Dust_****]-**

**-[-]-**

Been a few days since I worked out, but my muscles finally stopped hurting, so I might as well start right away. Fal and Trevor are big fans of weight lifting, always competing to see who can lift the most compared to their own weight, but Bob and I prefer more natural workouts, like sit ups, push ups and jogging, me to increase my endurance and Bob to remain lean and fast.

I usually do two hundred pushups and three hundred sit ups to keep in shape, but today, after the first fifty pushes, I still don't feel strained, most likely due to my augmentation, or a faulty artificial gravity…

Either way, I just need to grab a 50kg weight –anything lower being just too light to make a difference- and begin doing one handed push ups with my other hand holding the weight on my back.

It works; I snap a hundred before having to switch hand, snapping another hundred.

A slight pain took root in my arms by the time I switch to sit ups, weight on my chest.

It's nothing compared to my first day in training…

I'm only at fifty when the door opens on the Scottish guy, now wearing a full uniform. He looks worried.

"We have a problem, Sparty, our clock just started, we must get you briefed, geared and combat capable in three days flat."

I toss the weight aside and immediately regret it as it clatters on the ground with a roar close to a scorpion tank's main gun…

Once my ears stop ringing, I begin asking questions.

"Where we headed?"

"Omega Astralia, in the Omega Servendi system."

I review my mental map of the galaxy…

"It's right next to Onyx!" And completely worthless in the grand scheme of things… Cheap labor is its only… Shit, listen to me! Cheap labor? It's people, families we're talking about!

"Yah, why you think they asked you? We got plenty more green guys to do the job, just none that can make it in time. Now listen, we need you to extract a VIP there before covies show up, we'll brief you on the layout of the city and use of your new equipment, but I'm afraid we'll have to cut it very short, so Q&A's over, lad, move out!"

With that, he steps out of the way and I get moving.

Just then, the door slides open and the light beyond hits me like a freight train, forcing me to shield my face again.

Damn it hurts! But the Colonel is walking out, so I follow, stepping in the maze of blinding light, bumping into walls and pipes from time to time, earning a few concerned pauses from the Colonel.

"Oi, you alright, lad?"

"Peachy, sir."

"Hey, now," He laughs, "I'm twenty-nine, and officer only on the paper; name's Murphy."

This is such a break from military regulation my brain doesn't assimilate it for a second.

"Alright…" It's almost painful, but I succeed, "Murphy."

The light is not so blinding anymore, which means I can make out the dark outlines of his hairs, eyebrows and lips floating in front of me.

Murphy slaps my shoulder and gets moving again, forcing me to follow the yellow-brown spot of his hairs.

This keeps up for around two minutes, -by then I can almost see normally-, then Murphy stops, comes back on his tracks and to a door in a poorly lit part of the hallway.

"We're there, boy!" He declares, punching the open key… Well, trying to, seeing as he misses twice. "Oh, one last thing, you're not a Spartan, capitche?"

"Sure, si… Murphy."

The Spartan-III program is classified anyway, I wouldn't have told about it had he asked me to.

The room beyond is… Well, a briefing room, ONI style, which means stainless steel all over the place, the table, chairs and even the flagpole opposite to the door, all shiny, perfectly polished steel.

Except the walls, there are video screens on those.

On these screens, seven faces watch me enter, all old and wise looking, five men and two women.

Besides Murphy, the screens and I, the room is empty, so I guess they're here for me.

I pull a random chair just as a man, Admiral Whitecomb, from the screen's display, speaks up first:

"Hello, son, what's your status?"

No thinking is involved in my answer. I'm a Spartan, I could be missing an arm and both eyes my answer would be the same, "Green, sir."

"Glad to hear it, we're short on time… Terry, if you would…"

Quite frankly, Terry is the last name I'd call the severe looking man that speaks next.

"ONI Specialist John Smith was leading researches on covenant shield technology down on Astral and reported making a major discovery three weeks ago.

A day later, a covenant frigate showed up in the system and was shot down by the UNSC fleet stationed there…"

Suddenly, a just as serious looking woman cuts him off.

She's pissed that's for sure. "Admiral, I must insist, these information are…"

"Within this man's accreditation level, Doctor, thank you."

"How old is he? Eighteen? Do we send kids to do Spartan work now?"

"Doctor Halsey, should I point out the irony of that question?" Murphy growls behind me.

So the graying woman on the third monitor is doc Halsey, mother of the Spartan project? I imagined she'd be… Smarter.

"No, Murphy, you don't…" She leans forward, her face soon taking up the whole screen, "You think you're up for the task, soldier?" She's looking straight at me.

"I have not yet been briefed, ma'am, but I can hardly conceive a scenario in which I am unable to carry out my mission, so yes, I think so, ma'am."

"No further questions, then, let's begin."

Murphy winks at me in approval as the assembly of important looking men brief me on my task.

The scientist is in Astralis' capital, Astral, in an heavily fortified building, they would evac him through normal means, but they're afraid the covenant will arrive before that happens and there is already a sizable covenant infiltration force in the city, seemingly looking for Smith as well, so they need the best they can find, which is some young operator working for a shadowy Army branch and a Prowler that somehow were a week away from the system.

They talk for about two hours, but it's just politics, who I can or cannot shoot, who I take orders from, what to do with cameras… All of that I know already, but that's part of a Black Operator's life, dealing with the higher ups' paranoia and power games.

Next to me, Murphy is long gone into some imaginary land where the covenants are harmless as kitties and bullets plentiful .

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Kill'em all<strong>

* * *

><p>"So, listen up, lad." Murphy announces as we leave the room, walking at a brisk pace, "You've been issued MkVIK MJOLNIR armor prototype, it's totally packed with experimental gizmos ranging from jetpacks to holographic projectors, we'd need weeks to form you to the proper use of all of them, but time's a lacking, so I wrote you a list with quick summaries on each things…" He shoves a data pad on my chest.

I say nothing and read the pad.

**MJOLNIR MkV/K "Commando" Variant.**

**Attachments:**

**Adaptable Camouflage**

**Jet Pack**

**-A slightly more advanced version of the armors issued to Spartan-IIs, the…**

Whatever happens next, it happens fast and it hits hard, for the next thing I know, I'm flying toward the other end of the corridor and alarms are going off all over the place.

I spin in the air, just quick enough to hit the wall feet first. Murphy doesn't have that chance; his head slams in the composite plate and his skull shatters under the impact. I didn't know the man very well, never will, because all he was, would, could and should have been was spread across the wall in a second…

And a 'Splat'.

Oddly enough, his corpse then drifts away, droplets of blood and brain matter orbiting it.

Artificial gravity died on us, I suppose. That explains why I'm still floating around.

I check my watch; 2237 hours and fifty seconds.

Looks like I'm caged in here; where there was corridors a second ago, there is now solid metal.

A good push against the wall gets me to the nearest of those bulkheads, just a few meters to my right.

I don't remember it being there when I first came in, guess it closed due to a hull breach or some shit. Should count myself lucky I still got air.

The thing isn't meant to be opened from here, but there's an intercom next to it with two buttons; BRIDGE and ENGINEERING.

I punch the Bridge one.

"This is Petty Officer Third Class Chris-G051 to any available crewmember, I am currently stuck on the admin level… I would appreciate a SITREP and a way out. Over."

Static. I try again with Engineering and obtain similar results.

Aw fuck.

Let's see, vacuum outside, no EVA suit, no communication with the bridge or engineering…

Something bumps against my feet; Murphy's corpse. I kick it away and resume thinking.

What do I know about Prowler-class corvettes?

Ablative plating, stealth engine… Useless in my situation…

Compact design, thin walls…

The armory should be right under me. If my compartment is intact, I don't see why the armory wouldn't be.

It's getting there that's challenging, as thin as they are, the walls are still aluminum/titanium alloy and bound not to give in easily.

Well, who knows, I've seen determined Spartans on those vids flip Scorpion tanks, punching a hole through tin foil should be easy…

So I push myself into an almost graceful back flip away from the bulkhead and land on the floor.

First step; rip the rubber carpet.

Might as well have been dried chewing gum…

Next; punch the shit out of that floor.

Except Newton's Third doesn't agree and I get thrown against the ceiling by the strength of my own punch.

Good thing is, I managed to dent the plate where it meets the next one, which means I'm actually going somewhere.

Before I initiate step three, I might want to think about what awaits beyond…

Ship's running on emergency light, which means power isn't running anymore, but that doesn't mean I won't meet a few wires with juice left on them, so I need to be careful when going through.

And just because I have air doesn't mean the other compartment does too. If it doesn't, I'll have ten seconds to either seal the breach or suit up with whatever EVA gear there is down there…

With that in mind, I push hard against the ceiling, arms held in front of my face, and ram the weak spot on the floor. There is a deafening suction sound and I am brutally dragged –along with a few composite plates- right into the armory.

So, yeah, I guess this section got breached too…

I grab the side of the hole I made going it –my fingers immediately digging into the alloy- and take a quick look around while the air gets sucked out of the room; pretty much everything not bolted down is now trying to rush out a broken window. Pretty large, one meter by sixty centimeter…

One of the things that are bolted down is a thick stainless table that used to be filled with mags. It's two meters long by one meter large and right between me and the window.

My fingers release their grip and I swing forward, so as to put my feet in contact with the ceiling.

The world spins around me for what seems like forever and I feel like my lungs are going to jump out of my ribcage… Side effect of having the air slowly sucked out of them, I guess.

My feet finally impact with something solid, so I push myself toward the table, timing it so the suction doesn't make me miss.

It's a close call, but I manage to catch onto the side of the thing and pull myself to the floor.

Then, it's just a matter of… well, tearing the shit out of that furniture, really.

Both feet solidly planted in the floor and the table in hand, I use every single muscle in my body to pry it from the floor.

Turns out, it's not half as hard as I thought it would be; the legs on my side come loose in a second and the opposite ones only need a good kick to snap like twigs.

Then, the rush of air does the rest, sucking the table right to the hole and sealing it shut by air pressure alone.

Wow… Silence… it's damn good to hear after all that whistling and roaring and…

_Move, soldier! This isn't over yet!_

The watch leaps in front of my face and I blink at the numbers; 2237 hours and fifty-four seconds.

Damn… That seemed… longer…

A loud clanging from the table reminds me this is by no mean spaceship grade plating that's keeping me away from a trip in hard vacuum and that maybe I should move my ass.

Aligned in tubes next to the window are five sets of green ODST BDUs. Will have to do, I guess. I had hoped for that MJOLNIR armor Murphy was telling me about.

I slip one on as fast as I can and then inspect the weapon racks.

Only M7 SMGs remain in the conventional weaponry section, for some reason. You'd think small guns would be the first to get sucked out…

I grab one and fill my ammo pouches with spare clips before moving to the less conventional guns.

All the gun racks are glowing red, meaning they are locked, but I still manage to coax the into opening by tearing the shit out of them.

M6 Grindell/Galilean-Nonlinear-Whatever -The-Fuck-Else "Spartan" lasers, two of them and an healthy supply of batteries.

There is a god, and he loves me.

I sling both weapons on my back -because I don't really care about weight in the current situation and just plain enjoy overkill- and drift back to the row of suits.

I'll need more than the BDU's fifteen minutes air supply, so I grab a few spare CO2 filters and toss them in my rucksack.

Next step: Uh… Yeah, what now?

The table bends on its center as it is slowly sucked out the window.

Although I'm now EVA capable, I can't say I want to stick around and see what happens when this room re-depressurizes.

Where's the god-damned door?

My mental map tells me there is a manhole between the two weapon sections. I think it leads to engineering.

The thing is locked, of course, but the only real challenge is to beat it open without breaching my suit.

I do, but scrape the paint…

Beneath the hatch is a long dark tube and another hatch with ENGR written in bold letters.

You can always count on Abby to dig up the best intel available, even though neither of us ever though hacking into the ONI Prowler's blueprint files would ever serve a purpose other than fun.

The hatch opens without problem and I glide through just as easily.

Seems like there's air in Engineering.

The hatch closes itself behind me and I am plunged in darkness, although it only lasts a second.

Feels like I'm wearing night vision goggles, yet my suit's VISR is not active, so I suppose seeing in

the dark was part of the augmentation…

The room has five terminals; Power, Engines, Security, Internal Comm. and Slipspace monitoring.

Internal and slipspace are useless, so I drift to security and quickly bring up thumbnails of all remaining cameras.

There's five; one's just under the reactor and shows the stars in front of the ship, as well as the ship's bow –well, it would, if the ship still had a bow, now it really just shows what looks like a big heap of scrap metal-, the next one is located in the armory and allows me to see the stainless table finally fold on itself as it gets sucked in space, and the last three show random corridors.

After some random spinning, the first camera locks on an object, barely a few hundred kilometers away.

It's a ship, a civilian freighter, except it's lugging missile pods instead of cargo crates.

I just found the fucker who shot at us.

I drift to engine terminal.

If I can fire them up long enough, I might be able to ram that sucker, for what it's worth.

I don't have navigation data, but a quick mental calculation and a few careful bursts of whatever maneuver systems I could get online gets the wrecks moving toward its target who simply turns to face the giant heap of metal.

_Kill them all._

With just that thought in mind, I lift both Spartan Lasers and drill a hole in the nearest wall, causing all air in the room to be violently sucked out and dragging me with it.

Why the fuck did I even do that?

Although I'm now floating in space, I'm still drifting at the same speed as the wreck and in the same direction…

The enemy ship fires its reactors twice and begins moving my way.

As the freighter fires a volley at the Prowler's remains, a single thought emerges in my brain.

This is gonna hurt.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: Landfall<strong>

* * *

><p>The volley of seven missiles swarms out of the tubes and head straight for the wrecks.<p>

Two laser shots later, it's a volley of five missiles that rushes to meet the Prowler.

My Spartan lasers are quick to dissipate heat, seeing as I am floating in space, and are almost instantly ready for another volley. With an air-cooled gun, that would have melted the barrels.

Three missiles left.

I let them break apart the remains; at this distance, it doesn't matter anymore; the ship is close enough that I don't care what happens to the wreckage. I only needed it to draw its attention away from me.

Both laser sights point to the freighter's bridge –_They might as well have painted a target on it by facing me like that-_ and lances of fire lash out.

The VISR warns me that I am going at around two hundred kilos per hour and that I have four seconds before splattering against the windshield.

The first shot pierces the large window while the second just weakens whatever I'm about to land on.

And land I do. Quite frankly, I rarely lose consciousness, on account of me being built tougher than a Scorpion Tank, but now, I think being hit by a Scylla-class medium freighter is a good excuse to black out.

I don't.

"_Thunderstorm_ to _Wildcat_, please respond."

There's a crack in my visor.

Wait, no, there's a crack in the video screen over me… What's it displaying anyway?

Looks like a guy with glasses, except the image keeps flickering around the crack, creating four guys with glasses.

My whole body hurts, but I still manage to get on my feet.

I'm on the freighter's bridge and, past the destroyed glass, can see a blue and white orb, straight ahead, along with a tiny flotilla.

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis' Orbit]-**

**-[Captured UNSC Frigate ****_Thunderstorm_****]-**

**-[-]-**

'Captain' Anthony Wilder didn't like the looks of it, not one bit. Whatever had hit the _Wildcat_, it was effective. One round and the ship now floated dead in space, along with its massive missile payload and powerful detection systems.

Fuck those Prowlers! What had that bastard been doing there anyway? The Astral Liberation Armed Service had done a damn near perfect job blocking all outbound comms since the covenant's defeat. Did the UNSC know this system was now independent? Were they spying on them or just wandering by?

The radar officer suddenly broke Wilder's dreaming, announcing that the _Wildcat _had resumed moving, even though scans indicated all atmosphere had been vented from the bridge.

"Should we open fire?"

Frederic Lancaster, the weapons specialist, was actually an art student before the rebellion and had proven himself quite bloodthirsty during the orbital part of the conflict.

"No, not yet."

He observed the ship as it slowly made its way toward the fleet, engines firing sporadically.

The freighter was dead, propelled forward by mere electric deficiencies and short circuits. Shooting it would not do them any good, mostly considering all the valuable equipment it carried.

"Send the tug," Anthony decided, "have them bring it to the space station."

The communication officer barked a "yes, sir!" before sending the appropriate requests.

Wilder turned back to the news feed on his personal terminal.

Down on the planet, things were not going as well as in space. The UNSC loyalists managed to entrench themselves in many strongholds within Astral and simply wouldn't budge, while Covenant Spec Ops teams were slaughtering peoples in their sleep, causing mass hysteria.

The reporter showed massive riots in the capital; people looting, killing, raping… Chaos.

Not many citizens were still loyal to the UNSC, but fear made such alignment quite futile, since everyone only focused on their own survival.

That made him wonder about the young woman in a classy suit telling the news. What was her motivation? Why was she still faithful to her post when everyone else had deserted theirs?

Behind her, two punks were looting a TV store. One of them approached her with a smile and got pistol whipped across the face before the live feed was suspended. The clean suit had been hiding a martial arts expert.

Anthony was glad to be in space, where it was safe and calm…

Then, the missile lock alarm went blaring and he could only curse his own stupidity before his bridge got blown to mush.

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis' Orbit]-**

**-[Derelict Scylla-class Freighter]-**

**-[-]-**

I push the engines to max, ramming this freighter into the tiny tugboat and earning a few decompression warnings.

Like I care, as far as I'm concerned this freighter is now only one big ballistic missile aimed straight at that MAC station.

On the radar, the seventeen blips that was the rebel fleet are slowly fading away, thanks to the massive volley of missiles the ship just let off.

Quite powerful models, those missiles; probably old ICBMs or beefed up Archers.

Didn't have enough to blow up the space station as well, so I'm using the freighter instead, just as effective if you ask me, so long as nobody's shooting at me. Well, remnants from the fleet still take pot shots, but I removed most immediate threats.

It doesn't take long before the collision alert tells me to fucking run for my life.

Not a long run, actually, the life pods are right next to the bridge.

There's air in them, so as soon as I punch the opening button, I get blasted backward by the decompression, crashing straight on the communication consoles.

I hate space.

The lifepod is cramped and boxy, with a lot of sharp edges and only four seats. Not a bumblebee model, more like a glorified HEV.

Since it's a civilian model, there is no artificial gravity either. Better get strapped in.

There is no actual pilot seat, so I sit on the one closest to the door and activate the evacuation sequence.

The door slam shut and three locks fall into place.

No windows or anything, except a blinking holographic countdown telling me I have five minutes until impact, so all I have to pass time is thinking.

That was a very close call, back in the Prowler, I could have miscalculated the wreck's trajectory or the freighter could have seen through the trap and activated its point defense guns.

I could have died. I could still die. This life pod isn't cloaked, armed or even fast, so if I missed only one ship with decent sensors, during the opening salvo, I'm as good as dead.

Wait a second… Seventeen ships… at least a hundred people each, all of them just like me, hoping they'll just live this one out, hoping they'll get to see their kids or plain just grow old and fat…

One thousand seven-hundred human beings, minimum, killed by a single press of a button.

What kind of murderer can take so many lives with so little effort? I'll probably get a medal for it. Why? Because they weren't wearing the UNSC's emblem? Because they thought they could defend themselves better without us?

What made their lives worth so much less than UNSC citizen's?

_Nothing, you didn't have to kill them._

But they would have killed me instead.

_Ah, that's different; you decided _your_ life was worth more than theirs. Why?_

They were rebels, they were only looking to seize power from the government and serve their own agenda. With the covenant around, we can't let them hurt the UNSC from inside! The covies are getting closer, we need to be strong if we want to survive!

The pod warns me that we are beginning atmospheric entry, so I silence my inner voices and brace myself.

We had two HEV trainings back on Onyx and I soiled my pants at the last one, so I'd better be ready this time.

The impact knocks the wind out of me, but that's about it, as boring an escape as I've ever seen.

Then, the door opens and I get half a dozen rifles shoved in my face.

Rotten luck doesn't begin to cover it.

000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, K District]-**

Field Master Jara 'Rolamee looked up at the sky with amazement.

He had seen the space battle, or more like the space slaughter, with a mobile telescope and simply could not believe it.

Something had happened to the human ships, some kind of evil being had caused them to destroy each other; first claiming the biggest and most powerful vessel, it proceeded to prowl through their ranks like a wounded animal before roaring back to life with a formidable surge of firepower, finally ramming itself into the human space station, creating quite a light show over the city of Astral.

His first thought was that this must be an AI or the Parasite, but as he watched a single life pod descend to the planet's surface, the elite commander realized something far more terrible than the flood was about to set foot on the human colony. He then addressed his assembled warriors.

"Brothers, the creature in this vessel has cleared the path for our…Strategic retreat... And since it is by its courage and strength that we will see another day, I believe we should show our gratitude and offer it transportation off this world before it is cleansed."

Major Domo 'Volammee spoke first:

"What if it proves hostile?" Jara only laughed.

"Then we shall offer it a dignified death."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: Burnt Whale<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[ALAS Headquarter. Former Astral Town Hall.]-**

"So, you ODST, huh? What are you doing here? Does the UNSC know what's going on?"

The man is wearing a UNSC uniform with the Major emblem on his collar mismatching the colonel ones on his shoulders.

Behind him, two tall guys with MA5Bs are guarding a heavy steel door.

Insurrectionists.

And I'm tied up to a chair with chains meant for heavy lifting, so killing them isn't an option right now. Not yet. Someone whispers something in the man's ear. They salvaged intel from the Prowler.

"You're a Spartan." He whistles, "How many of you guys are here?"

If I tell him I'm the only one, he won't believe me, if I tell him what he wants to hear, he'll kill me, so I go for the alternative.

"More than enough to kill all of you. I already did half the j…"

He hit me across the face with his sidearm. Smart guy; I wouldn't have felt a thing otherwise.

"You'll feel sorry very soon." First, I think he's the one who said that, but given the fear flashing in his eyes, it must have been me.

"We'll see. Last chance, boy; How many of you are here?"

"I don't really like you, but I'll still kill you quickly."

He sighs and smacks me again. The grip of his handgun cracks and he curses, tossing the thing on the floor.

He leaves me with the guys totting MA5Bs and comes back a minute later with a room service tray, which he pushes outside my peripheral vision before coming back straight in front of my seat.

"Hard to think up torture techniques fitting a Spartan, but I believe we did a good job…"

Some guy I didn't notice comes up from behind and slams what must have been a sledgehammer on the top of my skull, stunning me just long enough to shove a fucking starship grade funnel down my throat.

My senses kick in to tell me there's a smell of heated metal and a sound of boiling water coming from behind me.

That can't be good.

_Bad… BAD! MOVE IT DAMNIT GET OFF THIS CHAIR!_

I see the bucket; there's steam rising from it… Oh god no… Fuck I need to say something! Get that funnel out you assholes I'll tell you what you want to hea…

They laugh, pouring a short splash of water down my throat.

_Fuck_! It's like drinking razor blades! The liquid makes its way down my throat, setting my nerves ablaze along the way, burning a hundred times like a sip of too hot coffee.

_COME ON! MOVE!_

There's at least four litters of boiling water in that bucket… Damnit, will it ever stop! The Pain is still as sharp as it was first… Trying to close my trachea only earns me more pain and makes water rise up to my face and fill my nose preventing any air from entering my lungs.

Fuck, they're going to kill me! This is it, all I've trained for! Not an exercise anymore, these guys will actually end my life if given the chance.

_ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT!_

The pain in my throat is overshadowed by the burn on my back, only it's a different pain, less vivid, old and most probably not physical.

I actually enjoy it, for some reason. Like a venom, the burning spreads to my whole body, filling muscles and bones with fire and filling the room with a coppery smell even stronger than that of the overheated bucket.

The chains around me don't break; they explode, sending shrapnel all over the place, one landing in uniform guy's left eye, another slicing my face from the right corner of my mouth to my left eyebrow, almost breaking my nose on the way.

I push myself in a backflip that causes the bucket of water to splash all across the holder's face, blinding him just before the two guards fill him with leads. They were aiming at me, but I'm already way out of the firing line.

Only one of them realizes it before it's too late; the other had his face splattered on the wall under my boot. He takes aim but can only gurgle his amazement when my fist shatter his sternum and cracks his spine.

Uniform guy makes a run for the door, but I snap his neck and crush his skull with a single punch.

Told him I'd kill him quick.

I pick up both assault rifles from the dead guards and all the clips they had, three hundred rounds in total.

I'm still in my ODST armor, minus the helmet, which is on a table opposite to the door, right next to a hot plate.

I pick it up and attach it to the rest of the armor, waiting for the tune to tell me everything is in order. It rings two seconds later. Five seconds after that, the VISR's GPS announces I am in Astral's city hall, in the lunch room, more accurately.

The pain in my back finally dies down, replaced by an atrocious burning in my throat… It's like a flu, a sore throat but thousand fold, even breathing hurts!

Trying hard to ignore the feeling, I push the door open and step out of the room.

My suit access the building's blueprints just as I step in the corridor, warning me that the corridor to the left leads to a dead end while the one to the right goes straight outside, it reminds me power in the building is out. I hadn't even noticed.

Of course, I can hear five tangos moving around that same corridor, just beyond a curve, two meters ahead, but I have plenty of rounds to see to that.

Back to the wall and 5B in hand, I sneak a glance around the corner just long enough to know where everyone is.

Two guarding the entry doors, two more right in my face, guarding another door, and one patrolling the whole hallway.

The patrol is heading my way and will most probably find me soon, so if I want to shoot my way out, it's now or never, but then again, stealth would be a better alternative…

The walls are above one point five meters apart and the ceiling is at least three meters high, which gives me an idea that would make Curtis want to kill me.

I sprint forward and run _on_ the wall, helped by my armor's mag boots, until I am two meters above the floor, then I throw my right leg on the opposite wall and hold myself like that, in an almost full split, aiming my 5B down the corridor.

Now I just need to wait.

My right foot slips a little and I need to increase the pressure, denting the walls with a low whine of distorted metal…

The guard turns the corner and looks up in surprise, but it's already way too late; I let go and he catches two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and steel with his face.

He packed two combat knives, an M6D and a Designated Marksman Rifle. I take the whole package, trading my second MA5B for the DMR

Now with a knife in each hand, I casually walk up to the two closest guards. They tell me access is restricted and I slice their tracheas, esophagus, neck arteries and spine with one slash each.

The guys on each side of the entry door lift their guns and die with a knife in both their faces.

Bob taught me how to accurately throw even unbalanced knives like these, just in case. Bob is good at a lot of things, despite the attitude.

I scan radio frequencies for some confirmed UNSC signals and only get one match from an Army armored division.

"Third Armored, this is ONI operator Five-one, please respond."

A few parasites latter, a bemused female voice answers: "This is Charlie Two-Six, we were not notified there would be ONI presence in the area…"

"Quite the point, Two-six." I laugh while walking past the double doors. Outside, smoke is rising from at least seven different points in the city, sporadic firefights breaking the constant hum of bombardments and random propaganda speeches are mixing together in a hellish choir.

Battlefield… I'm the first Spartan III from Gamma Company to ever see real combat. Better not screw this up…

"I get it, spooky and all that shit, what do you want, Five-one, we're a little busy here."

"Are you anywhere near the city hall?"

"Pretty much, just two levels lower, five hundred meters east." Shit, this city had to be multi-layered…

"Roger that, I'll be linking up with you shortly."

"Whatever, Two-six, out."

5B in hand, I climb down the stairs, aiming my gun at anything that moves and sticking to the shadows.

Once I'm certain there are no patrols in the vicinity, I make a run for the nearest cover available and slide to a stop behind a civilian Warthog, in the middle of the street.

My rifle jumps from shadows to shadows, the twelve o'clock sun giving me plenty to shit my pants about…

Then I make another run for it, just as a deafening roar announces me a sniper almost took my head off.

The building ahead used to be a café with fenced terrace and fancy marble tables.

I leap over the fence, roll and snatch one of the heavy marble plates, in time to stop the next shot. Probably a DMR, anything else would have kicked through.

The thing still shatters under the impact. However, I know where my enemy is hiding; My M6D lines up with the little black dot atop an Eiffel tower replica, faster than I knew I could draw, and fires twice, causing tiny red spots to replace the black one.

Then, the remains of the table hit the ground.


	4. Kill'em all

**Chapter 16: Mama Lopez**

* * *

><p>The gold armored Shangheili strolled up the corpse littered corridor, wondering just what the humans expected to happen when they took such a powerful foe inside their base.<p>

From their wounds, he figured they had time to think about it before dying, however.

Once he arrived at the interrogation room, the Fieldmaster couldn't help but laugh at the carnage.

Ahead, a Minor picked up what seemed to be a bit of broken chain from the ground and tested its resistance.

"Strong enough to hold a Jiralhanae… What could break such a thing?"

Another minor answered from the door, "An angry Mgalekgolo…"

"Or angry human Demon." Came another response from the cloaked Ossoona, who then appeared over a dead human officer, a round, grenade shaped device in hand.

The spy pressed a switch on the device and it started playing out a recording.

_"So, you ODST, huh? What are you doing here? Does the UNSC know what's going on?"_

The Field Master's translator quickly rephrased the sentence in his own language while he tried to imagine the dead man talking.

"_You're a Spartan…"_ That revelation came in as a shock to pretty much everyone but the Ossoona. What were they expecting, the damned Forerunners? _"How many of you are here?"_

"_More than enough to kill you, I already did half the j… *Smack!*"_

The Field Master picked up a broken human weapon from the ground, giving everyone a good idea of what had transpired during the last passage. After this, the familiar sounds of a human being tortured filled the room, just with less screaming…

The Shangheili warrior's blood froze when a new voice, a hoarse, rumbling voice filled with rage and hatred, was delivered by the tiny device:

"**_ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT!"_**

Then, there was an explosion and a splash followed by gunfire, itself interrupted by two wet sounds and a brutal crack.

A throaty chuckle was the last thing the device recorded.

All Elites in the room stared in silence until the Ossoona's laugh made them snap out of their reflection.

"Seems the humans bit much more than they could chew..."

The large Shangheili dropped the device and re-cloaked to follow the path of corpses out of the building.

Jara sneered at the spy's arrogance. The Ossoona annoyed him to no end, although it was not he who was at the origin of the Zealot's anger, no, Rolamee knew the true source was the Prophet that had sent him and his warriors on this world with a single ship to find some human filth.

Human filth covered this world and without indications more precise than "He is a scientist and very important to his kind." His Elites could interrogate every single person on this world and still not attain results.

Whatever it was that the Demon wanted on this planet, Jara felt that he would be their best chance at success and that, too, angered him to no end.

Despite himself, a part of his mind wondered once again, the Forerunners forgive him, why humanity had been branded impure by the holy prophets. This Demon had proved himself more than worthy, yet Rolamee would have to kill him were they to ever meet. Pity, encountering such a warrior would truly be the honor of a lifetime, had he been Shangheili…

The Zealot snapped his mandibles and followed the Ossoona out.

00000000000000000000000000

Sergeant Lopez gives me a weird look as I take off my helmet and drink from the canteen she's handed me.

Some NCO named Benti cringes as the guy with the Mohawk tells her what happened to me, since she was not there when I told my story for the first time.

The cold water hurts, but I guess it'll help my throat heal; hope so, anyway, because I sound like I'm two hundred years old right now…

"So, you're not telling us why you're here?"

I shrug and hand her the water. "Just looking for a colleague, he owes me money."

Benti speaks before Lopez gets a chance to; "Shit, you walk right in the middle of a civil war, get tortured, loose your ship and dodge snipers just to get some cash back?"

"He owes me a lot of money."

She walks up to me and open my mouth with her thumb before shining her flashlight in it.

"Remind me to never bet with you… So, looks like you're in for a month of painkillers and antibiotics, but you'll be fine. I wouldn't say combat ready, but somehow I feel you don't give a damn."

"I'm here, might as well finish what I started."

Lopez seems to agree with that one.

"Alright," she turns to Third Armored's Lieutenant, "You think you can lend us a squad and a Tank as cover on our way to ONI headquarter?"

I step forward, and put a hand on the Sarge's shoulder. "Not necessary, Ma'am, I just need the coordinates and…"

"Bullshit!" She growls, shaking my hand off, "Mama Lopez doesn't let kids wander around battlefields alone, mostly when ONI's involved; if there's anything we're not meant to see in there, just say it, we'll keep our eyes closed once we get to it."

Guess there's no convincing her…

"No, nothing like that."

Benti wraps an arm around my helmet and laugh, "Fine then! We've got ourselves a new friend! What's your name anyway?"

"Christopher Gamma, just call me Chris." Gamma? Fucking hell, I think fast enough to dodge bullets and it's the best I could come up with?

The others don't ever blink at my name, so I guess it doesn't sound that weird after all.

The Lieutenant seems about to refuse but decides against it, not wanting to get into 'Mama Lopez''s bad graces… The man doesn't look happy to be here at all, come to think of it. Might be because we're hiding in a hole on a planet about to be glassed with pissed off innies all around, or because said hole is filled with Marines corpses… Might be a bit of both.

"Does any of you know how to drive a Grizzly tank? I got one but no crew for it."

Lopez, Benti and Mohawk guy look at each other, reaching a common consensus that they don't have a clue, so I step forward and nod.

"You can drive Grizzly tanks?" Lopez isn't convinced, so I recite the same thing Abby always says when asked if she can drive something.

"I was trained to drive, use, pilot and wear every single piece of equipment available on the battlefield and quite a few that aren't, human or covenant."

Benti's next sentence hits me like that sledgehammer from earlier; "You're a Spartan, aren't you?"

"No."

She laughs "You so are! The innies' space guys get blown to hell and you show up at that exact time, kicking serious ass with injuries that would make Lopez whince, at least. You're too smart for ODSTs and too young for ONI, so that makes you a Spartan."

I just shrug. "If it makes you feel any better." Seriously, why bother classifying something if anyone who takes a look at me knows what I am?

The tank is parked in a handicapped only parking lot, in front of a Multi-Mart. I'm not very familiar with normal life stuff like road laws, just enough to go unnoticed in an urban environment, but even I get the humor of that situation.

I climb in the driver seat, with Lopez getting on the right M237 machine gun, Benti in the gunner seat and McGraw on the left HMG, once everyone's set up, I get moving, hitting a stop panel on the way out of the parking.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17: Spartans Never Die, Bitch<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, K District.]-**

The tank tears trough an abandoned delivery truck like it's cardboard, with the same sound as falling bowling pins, earning a laugh from Benti and bitching from McGraw.

The computer registers a cluster of grunts on the road ahead, circling all of them with red halos.

"McGraw, Lopez," I hiss on the radio, "Apes on the road, drop'em!"

Both machine guns open up at the same time, sending the grunts who didn't go off like popcorn running in terror.

Another blip appears on my motion sensor, telling me there's an hostile in that apartment building, fifty meters ahead and to the left. Thermal scan reveals it's an Elite, but the Sarge's instinct is faster than the scan as she's already yelling fire coordinates.

"Benti! Eleven o'clock, third floor!" Lopez yells over the radio, trying to be heard despite the twin engines' roar and machine gun fire.

The turret turns slightly and rises, pointing straight at the intended building and swaying in rhythm with the tank as we rumble forward.

"Target acquired!"

A beam rifle shot grazes the Sarge's head, knocking her helmet off and filling the air around her with smoke.

"Fire!"

The sniper gets to shoot one more time, hitting my hatch just over the rectangle of Plexiglas, before a 155mm HE/SP round hit it right in the face.

Half of the apartment building's façade cascades down with the shock, filling the road with bricks and dust.

A hunter pair emerges from a storefront to our right, tearing it apart with their shields.

No time to spin the gun… The brakes scream just in time for the tank to avoid a pair of green plasma blobs.

McGraw opens fire on them and they both hide behind their shields.

Benti's pushing the joystick so hard I'm worried it'll break. To help her a bit, I spin the whole tank to the right, lining her gun with the targets twice as fast.

"DIE!" That would have been a correct statement, had the gun worked.

"**WARNING: AUTOLOADER JAMMED."**

"Fuck you!"

"God's sake, Benti! SHOOT!" Lopez's bitching doesn't really help.

The medic unstraps herself to go kick the jammed shell out of the loader, but she'll never make it in time; the Hunter's cannons are already glowing bright green, which gives us one choice…

I step on the gas and the tank jumps forward. One Hunter gets crushed under the treads, but the other manages to hold on for dear life, its canon still glowing.

McGraw and Lopez try shooting it off with their personal weapons, but quickly have to duck back down their turrets as the shop comes down on top of the tank.

Everything goes silent from there, everyone looking at me, perfectly aware of what's coming next. I try to get the tank out by going into reverse, without results, so I push the engine forward, but it seems we're stuck.

"Nice fucking going, kid…"

"Fuck you, McGraw." Is the only answer I can come up with.

Lopez checks her hatch and curses. Blocked.

That's going to be a problem.

"So… What the fuck do we do now?" Benti asks, removing her helmet to massage her eyes with both thumbs.

We do a frequency scan with the tank's communication systems, but either they're damaged, or we're the only UNSC unit in this area.

Both are very likely.

I slouch back in my seat. "You know, for a first op, this one totally fucking _sucks_!" I yell the end, earning a searing pain in my throat that makes me punch my hatch in frustration.

It doesn't hurt like punching a plate of titanium should, as a matter of fact, that plate didn't feel all that hard…

"Told you; Spartan."

The others are glaring at me, which I suppose is justified, given that I just dented ten centimeter of Titanium A…

Lopez only smiles.

She crawls over to me and unlock the hatch.

"Do it again."

I hit the hatch as hard as I can, denting it again, but nothing more.

"Try kicking it."

There's not much room to lie down in the tank, but I manage to squeeze myself between the seat and console. Then, I kick the metal disc twice, with very little results.

Except earning the knowledge that I can shake a tank by kicking it.

Everyone seems impressed, but it is Benti who voices their thoughts.

"This shit is scary…"

"This shit is all that stands between us and an ass rape by the Covenants so show some respect, soldier." Lopez seems to be the only person in this tank to support the Spartans, I ask her why and she explains she's not paid to have opinions, only to win that fucking war.

Then, we wait.

Mustn't have been more than five minutes before Benti suggests playing the twenty questions game, to which Lopez answers she has a gun and knows how to use it.

In the meantime, I take my whole weaponry apart and jury rig the MA5B's firing mechanism on the DMR. It's a bit tricky, since the parts were made by two different manufacturers with very distinct production techniques, but with the tank's field maintenance kit and my engineering knowledge, I quickly earn a field-produced battle rifle.

A few modifications to the 5B's clips allow me to load them in the M392, meaning I don't have to contend with fifteen round magazines.

McGraw seems about to comment when something shakes the whole tank, and by shake, I mean literally drag it backward.

It lasts long enough, I think we're out of the shop now, which a glance at the 'periscope' confirms.

That, and we're surrounded by motherfucking Elites. Did they drag us out? Scary shit.

Benti tries to target them with the gun, but it's damaged, so she only gets a high pitched whine.

A rumbling voice calls from the outside, making us all jump.

"Demon! It ends here, come face your end like a warrior!"

They don't seem to know about the marines, so maybe they can turn the tables if I can get the Elites' attention long enough…

I explain the plan to the squad and they all agree with me… On the fact it's a terrible idea dangerously close to suicide.

Once everyone has voiced how crazy I am, they let me punch the hatch open and climb out.

My palms are sweaty and my arms feel very heavy. I'm piss scared. There's ice in my ears and spine again, just like every times I get scared.

Fourteen Elites, no Grunts or Jackals, just Elites.

Ten black armors, three red and one gold, All standing in a circle around the Grizzly, except for Goldie, who's standing on the turret.

"You called?"

He growls and activate his energy sword. I expect the rest to do the same, but it seems it's between Goldie and Sparty.

Half my clip is empty before he even finishes his first lunge. He's fast, I'm faster; I'm already rolling away.

I fall off the tank and lose sight of my opponent for a second, but then my head hit the asphalt, causing my vision to waver a little, only a split second. Plenty of time for him to get in place for another attack, apparently.

My rifle snaps up and I spray Goldie's chest until the last second, then, just as his sword is about to pierce my chest, I throw my legs up and push myself aside.

My armored legs wrap around his equally armored arm, titanium sliding against alien steel, and I use his forward momentum and my own weight to throw him to the ground.

Then, using my legs as leverage, I pull his arm back much further than it should go.

His sword is right above my face and the Zealot would only need to flick his wrist to severe my head, but the pain is too intense for him to realize that.

I pull harder on his arm and he respond in kind, roaring in rage and pain as his bones are giving under the pressure.

With one final crack, he drops the sword and the rest happens in a heartbeat; I let go of his arm, spin on the spot and put two rounds in his skull.

I am still sitting on the ground, gun smoking, when the other elites decide to all rush me at the same time.

I leap forward, in time to avoid a slash in the back, and snatch Goldie's sword off the floor.

The blue blades spring to life right in the path of another sword.

Not giving the other time to think about why he failed, I spin on the spot like a ballerina, swapping his sword away and kicking him in the mandibles after blocking yet another attack as I go. A sword whizzes so close to my head, my helmet is filled with the smell of heated metal.

They're too fast, there's too many of them, I'm not going to hold out…

I grapple with an Elite before quickly letting go to leap the opposite way. Have to roll between the legs of a Spec Ops just as he was about to deal the finishing blow and sever his right leg as I go, but I manage to get out of the circle of death the Covies had caught me in.

One Elite roars and run away from the fight before going up in a cloud of plasma fire.

The others quickly check themselves to make sure I didn't fuck with their grenades, which gives me time to hop on an Elite's chest and plunge my sword in its thick neck.

Then, I get a searing pain in my stomach, way more intense than anything I ever felt, and am caught in midflight by claw-like fingers wrapping around my neck in a vice grip. Some Elite ran his sword trough his fallen comrade to reach me and is now holding me up.

"You fought well, human, but it was not enough…" The Elite holds me at arms length with little effort while gloating over his unavoidable victory.

"Thirteen against one. I would have fucked you all in a fair fight." I spit, regretting I didn't take my helmet off to actually be able to spit in the bastard's face.

_Murder them! You're not defeated until your dead! Move! Kill! Kill! KILL!_

He flicks he sword back on and growls one last sentence that sears itself in my brain.

"Tell me, why do you struggle on, what is it that you want to protect? Your race is doomed, your friends will die soon. All your efforts are for naught, so tell me, human, what is it that makes you stand and fight?"

Every single Squid in the vicinity is looking at me, standing six meters away, right next to the tank, expecting some deep answer. I'll give it to them.

_KILL THEM ALL!_

"You think you've won? You think because you're holding me like that, it means I lost? You're an idiot; so's your whole race. You see the glassing, you see the victories, but you are blind to the truth."

"What truth?"

The voice in my head is stronger now than ever before, contrasting the fear with pure aggression. It shows me a thousand way to murder every last covenant in the area. I just need to pick one.

_KILL THEM!_

"Spartans…"

_KILL! KILL!_

"Never…"

I grab the aliens fingers and begin twisting.

"Die."

One vicious twist and his whole hand snaps like a twig, at the same moment, all three Marines open fire with two HMGs and plenty of grenades.

The Elite toss me away as hard as he can and I just roll backward, sliding to a stop in the middle of the street.

About half the enemy force got killed in the opening attack, now half of that are retaliating and the other half is rushing at me.

I practically explode from my spot, plasma grenades in each hand. One leap is all it takes to latch myself onto my former captor's face and stick both grenades in his mandibles. I then draw both my knives and hop into the mob of angry aliens, stabbing both blades in the neck of one and slicing my way upward as we both crash on the floor.

My stomach hurts, but it's not so bad anymore…

A plasma sword comes down, way too late, since I'm already stabbing the shit out of another Squid, overloading shields with sheer kinetic power.

It does, however, give me a nice exposed spot in the wielder's neck to dig my blades. I do just that, blood spraying all over my armor in the process.

The knives are replaced by energy swords, which I use to block the counter attack from the two survivors.

The Aliens stagger back and we get in fighting stances. Mine is low and well balanced. Theirs is high and focus on aggression.

"You're dead, human..."

"I am. You can't kill a dead man."

With that, they both lunge at the same time, one slashing from above, the other stabbing straight ahead.

I dodge the stab, sidestep the slash and spin on myself.

One is dumb enough to attack before the other has regained his footing, so I swiftly sever his arm and decapitate him.

The other is much more careful and goes into a defensive stance.

Wise move, but it won't save him.

I discard both swords and pop a vertebra in my neck back into place.

Now more confident, the Elite try to slice my head.

I duck under the swing and stick my M6D in its jaw.

Two shots latter, I win.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18: Staff Sergeant TrevorG186<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[-]-**

The city of Astral had once been a small impurity in the ice diamond that was Omega Astralis, tiny, stubborn and deeply incrusted, with its seven underground levels and pyramid shaped sky scraper, designed to sustain the heavy snow that was bound to assault them every month.

That was ten years prior, anyway, now it looked like Bagdad during operation Desert storm; Chaotic, filled with warring factions, half destroyed and without an efficient government to fix the damages.

Half the first level was now buried under snow, turning it into a maze of half shoveled streets, makeshift shops, roadblocks and firefights.

In the middle of the city stood a veritable spear of metal and glass, the town's hall and the Innies' supposed HQ.

Trevor's MJOLNIR armor emitted a low hum as he turned on the power pack.

He had selected an Explosive Ordinance Disposal model with tiny optics, thick armor plate and powerful shields because of his huge frame and knack for heavy weapons that were bound to get him fired at.

Trevor was now the tallest known Spartan, ever, with his seven point eight feet unarmored and eight point ten with armor, he was so heavy the pilot had to put his Pelican in heavy lifting mode.

From the opened loading ramp, Trev couldn't see the town hall bellow, he had to actually look _under_ the dropship to see it.

Just as he did, the lights around him went green, so the massive Spartan removed the Pelican's M247 General Purpose Machine Gun from its rack, along with four boxes of ammo and a MA37 assault rifle, in lieu of sidearm.

Then, once all his gear was securely strapped on his broad chest and thighs, he stepped off the ship.

His arms and legs spread wide, Trevor scanned the ground bellow, deciding that he should use the target building's shape to reduce the strain on his armor.

His shield shaped itself accordingly to correct his trajectory and flip him in a vertical position.

On his HUD, numbers were flashing all over so fast a regular human would have only seen a blur. Trevor, however, saw that he was now at terminal speed, two kilometers above ground and five hundred meters above the building.

Resisting the urge to fire his jetpacks and stop his vertiginous descent, he pressurized the suit's gel layers to the maximum and opened his mouth, trying to keep his ears to pop from the pressure change.

To the Sergeant's Hyper-accelerated brain, the fall was painfully slow, but it would actually only last about four seconds and, to the ALAS patrol sent to check out on the HQ, it was like a thunderbolt had just struck the building.

Trevor landed on his ass, two meters from the tip of the pyramid and immediately began sliding down, leaving a trail of broken glass in his wake.

It took him a split second to get on his feet, soon sliding down like he was surfing on the wave of glass…

To their credits, the ALAS boys took only two seconds to open fire on him, causing a veritable shower of broken glass, sparks and ricochets to follow the Spartan down. He was already one fourth of the way down by then.

The M247 barked in response, handled by the young colossus like barely more than an assault rifle. Trevor was a heavy gunner, but he was also a Spartan and an accomplished Marksman, so despite the gun's enormous recoil, his phenomenal speed and the enemy's attempt at taking cover, he had killed six guys before making it halfway down the spear.

His feet were growing numb from the vibration caused by the breaking glass, but the Spartan had other worries at the moment; like a missile lock warning and a Gauss Warthog's turret aimed right at him.

At three fourth of the descent, Trevor fired his jetpack and pushed himself off the building.

The jets were not enough to stop his descent, however, and he crashed in the snow so brutally it created a tiny whirlwind around the impact point.

They remaining ALAS soldiers ducked into cover to avoid the shower of broken glass that followed the Spartan and, once it had passed, all opened fire at the same time, aiming approximately where the big guy had landed. Two Jackhammer missiles were fired, along with half a dozen Gauss slugs and more than a thousand small arms rounds.

Then, the assembled soldiers waited for the snow to fall, all weapons ready.

There was nothing in the crater; their enemy had literally been vaporized by the sheer amount of firepower they had thrown at him. All that was left was pieces of the M247 machine gun.

The Warthog's gunner was the first to understand things were not that simple, right as someone grabbed his arms from behind, to yanks them far behind his back with a loud crack.

He thought he would be handcuffed or something, but Spartans didn't take prisoners. Trevor placed his boot in the middle of the man's back and pushed.

The gunner was thrown about ten meters forward, his arms severed from his body and blood spraying from the wounds like in those cheap horror shows.

Everyone starred and the dying man, a mistake that proved fatal when Trevor tore the Gauss cannon from its swivel to hip fire it in the mass of traumatized soldiers.

He had a perfect line of fire and his weapon could pierce all form of cover, so the ALAS troopers' fate was sealed the moment they decided to look at the victim instead of the aggressor.

The first slug shattered a man's skull, the man beyond's sternum and ended in the asphalt it an explosion of snow.

Next one went trough an MA37 just above the trigger, ripped off the holder's arm and popped another soldier's kneecap.

The third shot tore right trough a streetlight and the spine of the ALAS trooper hiding behind. The man barely had time to realize how pointless hiding had been before a fourth shot ended his life.

The three remaining enemies opened up on Trevor, unleashing a torrent of bullets from their SMGs and MA3 assault rifles. A fruitless attempt, as Trevor's shield shrugged off every bit of metal like it was just rain.

The Spartan perforated the last men in four second flat and then swept the area with his powerful sensors.

Thermal, motion, SONAR and RADAR came back negative, but the pattern recognition identified footsteps in the ground that had seventy percent chances of belonging to Elites. They had been greatly deteriorated by the patrol's search, but it was clear this HQ had been attacked by a covenant death squad.

He dropped off the warthog and walked to the building. His suit's powerful audio sensors reporting the many fights going on in the city as clearly as if he hadn't been wearing an helmet.

He identified at least ten distinct fights and four against Covenants. Using an Echolocation software, he pinpointed the position of all fights and marked them on his map.

"Trev."

"Iona."

"Chris is alive."

Trevor snickered, "Of course he is. Where is he?"

"I can't pinpoint his location; ALAS' jammers are messing with the signal, but Abby detected echoes from his neural interface. He's in Astral."

"I'll find him." Chris was Trevor's best friend, they always took care of each others and the Spartan intended to do just that.

"Negative, Bob's got it, you are on Seek and Destroy; I want ALAS out of the picture."

He sighed. A week away from his _brother_ made him feel weird, G051 was by no mean a people person, but having him around always felt nice, nothing ever bothered Chris, be it physical injuries or mental distress. It was truly inspiring.

"What's everyone else up to?"

"Abby's in the Superintendent room, trying to set up some logistical support, Bob's gone to talk to the Army Third armored division, down on level three, Fal's on Seek and Destroy, like you, except she's tracking Covies and I am heading for ONI's lab with B312 to complete Chris' mission."

Trevor thanked whatever god out there that MJOLNIR comms were heavily encrypted and locked the town hall with his helmet mounted laser designator, so the place could be leveled by a Shortsword wing as soon a he'd be away from it, which became his new priority as soon as the countdown appeared on his HUD.

There were plenty of vehicles he could commandeer, strewn around the street, but he decided to just take ALAS' patrol's Warthog.

Civilian cars would be faster, but Trev doubted he'd fit in those.

**So? Who do you think is the more Badass? Trev or Chris ^^**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19: Sergeant Major FalG316<strong>

* * *

><p>Astral's water canals were actually nothing more than colossal trenches of concrete punctured by huge pipes that led to other trenches. Some went underground, to the lower levels, while others led out of the city and into the frozen lake nearby.<p>

Given the massive amount of melted snow that flowed throw these every two months, during the 'warm' season, every single tunnel and every pipe was the size of a man and the canals proper were large enough for a pair of Wraiths to hover aside one another.

To the Covenant forces, stranded and isolated, it proved to be the perfect hideout; isolated, easily barricaded and a veritable labyrinth to anyone without a map of the area. Until the snowstorm, anyway.

It had hit a week after their arrival, filling the whole first level canals and sealing the Covenants within the waterworks. Of course, there were plenty of exits within the lower levels, but none large enough for a Ghost or Wraith to squeeze in, so they found themselves without any sort of vehicles and low on everything but enemy.

The Field Marshal had then decided to assemble a death squad with a few minors and some pilots to go search for their objective and destabilize the enemy command lines.

Major Olo 'Salummee was not selected for this task, instead, he had been assigned with a few Kig-Yar to guard the main entrance, barely more than a large pipe leading to an underground street.

Said street looked just like the rest of this forsaken citadel; houses on either sides of the road, acting as pillars for the ceiling, thirty meters above.

The place was erected at a dead end and the houses formed a tight entanglement for any attacking force while giving his sniper plenty of nesting positions.

He could not see much further than six houses, snow and smoke dancing in a thick fog up the road, but knew that the bend was about twice that distance away and was guarded by his snipers.

The habitations were really of no interest to him, bleak, dark, and identical. Typical human architecture, all practical, no esthetic.

The lack of rooftops meant he didn't have to be on the lookout for enemy snipers, too, as they would have to enter the building from the man entrance and he could see all of those. All he had to do was watch the dark fog ahead.

Major Olo 'Salummee was bored.

Occasionally, he would hear the Kig-Yar mercenary eliminate some human scout or civilian, but beyond that, there were very little distractions. The air was constricted, filled with smoke and the stench of death. Not really an extraordinary thing, seeing as there had been fights on all seven levels of the citadel, but still very unpleasant.

At the other end of the street, Kyip, the sniper, was having a very different day.

There was a shape in the smoke, white and blurry, moving so fast his tracking optics couldn't keep up with it, flowing in between alleys and abandoned cars, sometimes bipedal, sometimes aerial, always with that predatory care…

It had showed itself twice and Kyip had attempted to shoot it both time, only for it to flare up and disappear, leaving a swirl and shimmer in the air.

It looked human, but Shangheili as well, with a pointed face and shiny eyes.

After every shot, the Kig-Yar always made sure to switch position, crawl to another window, yet every time, he would see the shape, barely out of sight, toying with his nerves…

Now squatted next to a large window on an apartment building's third floor, Kyip swept the street underneath with his eyepiece. Red lines dancing around every shape, looking for thermal signatures or some form of active camouflage.

The road formed below was almost empty, except for an abandoned cab and a beaten up teddy bear.

He could not see around the intersection, but the Major had forbidden him to leave the row of decrepit habitations and none of them had windows with view on that area, so he would have to wait for the shape to try and enter the street proper, as it had been staying way past the intersection up until now.

After five minutes of waiting for some sign of the apparition, Kyip left his eyes wander back to the abandoned toy in the street.

He worked for the Covenants because he had always seen it as a noble way of life, as opposed to the piracy and pillaging his race was so keen of, but that was cycles ago and now, watching his bosses slaughter a race like that, a race that had done nothing wrong by any accounts, just out of pure meanness…

It made him angry at himself, and at the whole Covenant, but the times had changed, voicing opposition to the Prophets would earn you a quick execution. They didn't even bother inventing reasons, they just killed. Looking at this child toy Kyip wondered just what kind of god would want that kind of worshiping and was such a god worth worshiping?

His defiant Jackal side told him that no, such a god should be fought with all of one's might, because everyone has the choice in the end and is accountable for his own actions…

The old warrior in him said opposing the Covenant would be foolish, even if all of his race rallied behind humanity and brought mighty vessels along for the ride, they would be squashed.

His eyes finally tore themselves from the toy, just in time to see a ghostly white hand shatter the window in an attempt to grab his neck.

Kyip jumped backward just quick enough to avoid the hand, which vanished immediately after.

He still fired three shots out the window, with little effect.

The Kig-Yar did not want to approach that window again, nor turn his back to it, so he slowly backed away from it, his rifle cooling down with a high pitched hiss.

Kyip almost made it to the door when his head was severed from his shoulders by Fal-G316's wrist mounted plasma dagger.

Back at the tunnel entrance, 'Salummee was growing impatient at Kyip's failure to respond. The Major had very little patience and the sniper was testing it now…

Unless, of course, the frantic shooting they had heard earlier meant the Kig-Yar had gotten himself killed, then Olo just might forgive his silence.

He ordered the rest of the squad to get in position and activated his energy dagger.

Ahead, the Kig-Yars were activating the deployable covers they had set up the day before and taking position behind them.

Two of them had Carbines and four carried Needlers, while Olo himself had a pair of plasma rifles.

Whatever would be coming was in for quite a fight.

The two Jackal marksmen kept their eyes on their scopes from their prone position on the floor while their brothers hid behind their shields in wait for the attack.

It took almost three minutes before something happened, and it really was not what the Covenant squad had expected…

A small human girl dressed in a bright red spring dress with a red balloon held to her wrist by a tiny string.

The girl was Asian, barely older than eight, her perfectly clean dress and pale skin practically glowing in the smoke and dust.

Olo couldn't imagine such a tiny thing being a threat, so he told his men to stand down and stepped out of cover. Humans were vicious, but not to the point of using a child as a distraction… So the Elite walked toward the little girl, who did not seem in the least frightened by the hulking shadow that emerged from the darkness.

It would be quick; humans that young were fragile and stupid. He would point his rifle at her, she would realize her mistake, then die.

When he arrived in front of her, the child only smiled at him, offering her balloon.

The Shangheili raised his weapon and pressed the trigger. The plasma bolt went right through the little girl's forehead. And splashed across the asphalt beyond.

The kid still stood, smiling, unharmed and still perfectly clean.

She withdrew her hand and shook her head before speaking, in a mechanical, hollow voice.

"I just wanted to be friends."

Olo whipped up his Curveblade just in time to block the hit from his cloaked attacker. He stepped back to get into a fighting stance, but was kicked hard in the guts and found himself sliding across the road in a shower of spark from his failing shields.

The creature that uncloaked before his eyes seemed halfway between Shangheili and human and held a very long sword, a human Katana, decorative weapons he had seen once or twice. Its pale armor glowed in the darkness of the city, like a specter.

It took a battle stance, sword held right before its face, perfectly vertical.

Olo was an accomplished swordsman, but he had never seen such a technique and that made him very careful. Humans did not swordfight, not in his experience…

The spectral creature moved first, using a very straightforward overhead attack that made Olo's arm numb from the sheer force behind it, yet the Shangheili did not let that deter him. He dropped his blade and spun on the spot to catch it with his other hand and slash out at his enemy.

The large sword got in the way, blocking Olo's lightning fast strike like it knew what he was about to do.

The sword moved again, this time so fast the Major could barely block in time, but it changed nothing, in the end.

Fal squeezed the trigger and the Elite's guts were forced out of its body by the auto-shotgun's terrifying rate of fire.

She the kicked it away with a fan kick, sending the dying Covenant face first in the dirt.

From super-human samurai, Fal snapped back to super-soldier the second the Jackals opened fire on her; first activating her point defense gauntlet before retaliating with her two M7 SMGs.

The aliens took cover for a second before returning fire.

The tide of needles that were heading her way was enough to blast her sky-high twice over, so she didn't wait for them and fired her jetpack, leaping high above the ground and out of the Jackals' line of sight. She then used her sword and shield to swap away the homing projectiles, causing a pink mist to follow her all the way to the pipe.

There, she deactivated her jetpack and crashed right in front of the Jackals.

Her shotgun was spitting slugs before any Covenant could even target the Spartan and the fight was over in ten seconds flat.

"Iona."

"Fal."

"I found the Covie's hideout. Sterilizing."

"Copy that."

Behind her, a tiny voice spoke, in a loop,"I just wanted to be friends."

Fal looked at the hologram and smirked.

"Well, let's go make some friends…" One press of a button latter, the program dissipated.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20: Staff Sergeant BobG123<strong>

* * *

><p>The Warthog swirled between abandoned cars with a lot of trouble, the driver hell bent on not slowing down no matter what. The rear bumper stroked a coupe as the front one barely dodged a pickup and sparks fell on the asphalt.<p>

In the rear, the gunner fired his LAAG like his life depended on it. Which it did, seeing as there was a pair of Cyclops and a full Astral Liberation Armed Service Fast Assault Group chasing them.

The Warthog's occupants had taken to calling them FAGs.

Kennedy, the gunner, spat his chewing gum and popped a fresh one in his mouth before resuming his frantic gunning, to the mild amusement of the radio operator, an ODST called Franklins.

"Hey, Ken, less chewing, more gunning."

Kennedy replied by showering an enemy Salamander transport with .50 CAL rounds, forcing them to break pursuit for a few seconds.

"Hey, Frank!" Called Talim, his voice tense from the focus needed to navigate the over encumbered streets, "Less chatting, more radioing!"

The ODST actually laughed before using his suit radio to broadcast a distress signal.

"Command, Command, this is Echo Blue Recon, we're under attack by a whole bunch of bad guys, heading north east toward FOB Delta, please advise."

Last time they had gotten only statics. Only now they did receive an answer.

"This is SIERRA one twenty three. Turn right into that industrial district."

"Who the fuck are you?" Franklins snapped back, knowing exactly what the SIERRA part meant, but not really liking it.

"I'm Bob, what's your name, mate?"

Taken aback by the friendly answer, the ODST declined his name and rank before his brain even registered it.

"Well then, Theodor Flanklins, Lance Corporal, would you please take a right so I might swap the flies stuck to your arse?"

One wave of Frank's hand latter, the Warthog drifted into a service road snuggled between two warehouses, leading into the third level's guts, the industrial districts.

Most people would think big chimneys spitting black fog and flames when they heard industrial district, but Astral's one was underground, so it was more of a compact maze of pipes going from the ceiling to the floor, sometimes splitting in two, taking dramatic, unjustified changes of directions, as if the designers of the city were high on some very strong drug when they designed it.

With the ambient smoke, the place became a veritable tactical nightmare…

The warthog emerged into the maze at a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, the driver stepped on the brakes as hard he could but they still engulfed a pair of pipes.

The damaged plumbing immediately started vomiting black smoke in the passengers' faces.

"Fuck, Talim, what the…"

Kennedy didn't get to finish the sentence as a Cyclop suddenly emerged from the alley they had just left.

The giant machine took one threatening step toward Echo. Ken swiveled his machine gun to aim it at the walkers head, but the thing's canopy opened before he even took a shot. The dazzled pilot could only gawk in terror as the Ranger opened fire, turning the other guy in ground meat.

Above his head, a pair of pipes had been perforated by an object the size of a coin. One of them was spitting flames on both sides …

"Echo, advise you bugger out." The Spartan's voice seemed playful and that was quite creepy in its own right.

Talim put the warthog in reverse and spun it around. There was really no path which the FAV could squeeze, though, and he ended up analyzing the tight cluster of pipes in panic.

"Continue on foot, Echo, they can't follow you in there and heat will fuck their thermal."

"They can just get out of the cars." Franklins pointed out.

"Then I'll greet 'em proper..."

Bullets began flying around the FAV, settling the question, seeing as a headless Cyclops was now blocking their only way out.

The Marine and both Rangers leapt off the Warthog and disappeared in the jungle of metal just as new attackers rappelled down the windows of both warehouses, there were six in total.

Two of them were killed by sniper fire before they made it to the ground and the others made sure to get behind the abandoned Warthog soon as they touched down.

One of them warned the others over the radio that there was a sniper and was ordered to take the bastard out to allow the rest to get in.

The man, a former UNSCMC Sergeant, knew exactly how to dispatch a sniper, so he took off his helmet and stuck it on the tip of his BR55 before sticking the top of the helmet over his cover.

As it turned out, that sniper was no fan of headshots, preferring to aim for the center of mass, so he angled his shot to ricochet off the asphalt under the 'hog.

The round did just that and ended its course right in the veteran's actual head.

One of the three remaining ALAS trooper tracked the shot to its origin point and jumped on the LAAG, confident he could take the sniper by surprise.

He fired one burst before his skull was perforated. The body fell off the FAV with a wet sound and, a second later the LAAG's ammo box exploded.

The last two soldiers tried to run for the mess of pipes and were quickly gunned down.

It took the main force a full minute to come up with a plan. Their remaining Cyclops ripped its way through the left Warehouse and met the same fate as its kin; the hydraulics under its left shoulder pad were destroyed by a single round, causing the canopy to pop open and giving Bob a clear shot at the driver.

Twenty regular soldiers then squeezed on both sides of the dead walker, firing wildly in every direction, running for the pipes.

Only twelve made it.

"Stay grouped, watch the corners." The leader ordered, "There's no rooftops, he's set up on a pipe somewhere.

The advance was made complicated by the fact Astral's industrial district was the closest thing to a forest one might find this planet, forcing them to vault over clusters of pipes, crawl under I-beams, walk along conveyor belts and orient themselves using a very old map of the district.

They advanced for almost ten minutes, movements in the smoke making them jump and sometime let loose panicked bursts.

The pointman, a girl with a shotgun, ducked under a pipe and was suddenly surrounded with pitch black smoke. There was a small gasp and everyone aimed their guns at the stream of smoke.

"Kimberly, sound off!"

Her gloved had stuck out of the smoke, thumb pointed up.

The officer was not convinced. "Show me your face."

She did as told and stuck out her tongue on him, her face covered in grime, everyone heaved a deep sigh and lowered their weapons. "Alright, carry on."

She nodded once and disappeared trough the leaking smoke once again.

One by one, the soldiers went through, as it was the only possible way forward that didn't include climbing or crawling.

On the other side, the pipes converged to some huge silo. There did not seem to be a way in, but the officer still ordered his men to fan out and search the area.

He went right with five troopers while Kimberly went left with the other five.

The two teams had barely lost sight of each other when Kimberly's group reported contact, report that was quickly followed by shotgun fire.

The whole team rushed to their comrades, but it was too late for most of them. The only one still standing was the pointman, her shotgun on the ground and combat knife in hand. On the ground, the rest of the team had gotten their necks broken or skull crushed. It didn't look like they had seen anything coming and none of them had managed to fire even a single shot.

In front of Kim and in the middle of the corpses stood a Spartan, tall and intimidating in his green armor. He turned to the six men that had interrupted his slaughter and simply faded away in an instant.

Kimberly ducked and everyone opened fire. A few seconds later, it was decided the Spartan was gone.

One of the men, Tyron, had known Kim since high school and was the first by her side.

Her face seemed made of plastic and her hairs were sticking to it like wet clothes.

"Kimmy! Talk to me, you alright?" His concern was palpable, but Kim dismissed it with a wave and just grabbed her shotgun off the ground.

Tyron was a little hurt by her attitude, but decided it was just the tension.

Ten seconds later, they were moving again and he was checking her ass like nothing had ever happened.

She shot him an angry glare over her shoulder and his blood froze in his veins.

Perhaps it was the smoke or a malfunction in the system, but it was like she was just some hologram displayed inside a life sized ice sculpture of a Spartan. It lasted just a second, but then he could see the hatred in her eyes and attempted to scream.

A blue blade sprung from her wrist and she dug it in Tyron's chin, so fast none of the others noticed anything until the kid was on the ground, drowning in his own blood.

The officer raised his assault rifle, only to have it swapped out of his hands by the apparently frail girl. A split second later, he was holding his guts with both hands.

Another trooper with an SMG took aim, but Kim kicked him in the throat, squeezing his neck between her boot and a pipe. She drew her handgun and shot two Innies before crushing SMG guy's spine.

The last man standing was armed with just a pistol. He shot Kim in the face twice before having his neck twisted so brutally the last thing he saw was his own ass.

Bob's suit ran out of power fourteen seconds later and a dark GUNGNIR armor replaced the Insurrectionist.

On the outside, he looked like he was savoring his victory, breathing slowly, shoulders rising steadily. Inside, his suit was struggling to compensate the sudden loss in eyesight caused by an uncontrolled tear duct activity.

"Echo…" He choked on the words and shut the comm. link in time to avoid broadcasting a strangled hiccup.

The Spartan restarted his video feed, enjoying the few seconds of blindness, but that pleasure was interrupted by the sight of his victim's terrified eyes.

That Kimberly girl's eyes had been a little different. She had known this was the only way it could end, she knew there was nothing she could do when he slit her throat to take on her appearance and all the honor she had received for her courage had been to get hidden on top of some pipes.

Bob shut that part of his mind and went back to business.

"Echo, ALAS troops neutralized, can you take me to Third Armored's Field HQ?" His voice was not playful anymore.

"Affirmative, Sierra 123, just give us your position."

"Don't bother, I'll catch up, just head straight there, I have your signals locked."

"You sure?" They sounded confused. Bob didn't care, he could not find a single reason to care about these peoples.

"Yes. There are things I need to take care of."

With that, he began piling the corpses, making sure he had enough incendiary grenades to incinerate everyone.

"God our Father,

Your power brings us to birth,

Your providence guides our lives,

and by Your command we return to dust…"


	5. Landfall

**Chapter 21: Staff Sergeant AbejundioG225**

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 7, A District.]-**

The Superintendant room was located deep under the surface and took up all of Astral's seventh level. No one lived there, so there were very little accommodations; a few lights and arrows on the walls were the only proof humans were meant to pass trough there. The corridors themselves were dark, damp and cold, made out of concretes or rock in some places.

Abejundio's suit told her the place was about seventy Celsius bellow zero and frost had formed on her blood red EVA suit. No heating system. Good, ALAS idiots would probably be kept away from the section, although she saw signs of battle and dead Covies on the way. The presence of bullet casings from an assault rifle confirmed there may be hostiles down there.

She was advancing in the rusting corridor two kliks away from the main control room when she met her first head scratcher.

A pipe had come loose from the ceiling at some point in the battle and the steam had formed a veritable pillar of ice that took up all of the corridor's width. Someone had tried melting it with a blow torch or a plasma sword, but ended up only giving it a different shape, as evaporated water immediately froze back.

A few taps of her Tac Pad revealed she had another possible path two hundred meters back, trough some kind of storage room.

The Spartan cursed as headaches struck her again.

A week ago, while Chris kicked the shit out of ALAS' orbital forces, she had been on heavy doses of anti-inflammatory and painkillers to prevent permanent brain damages because of a sudden inflammation of the cerebral membrane.

Her extremities were still cold and numb, she always felt cold beads of sweat trickle along her back and was still mostly color blind, all of which got her refused for that op, but, being the best doc she knew and considering herself combat ready, she had hacked into the automated evaluation process to obtain a little above the necessary result.

The headache went away, replaced by a throbbing pain just as she entered the storage room.

It was more of a storage warehouse, really. There were boxes and crates all over the place, a few containers too.

The door closed behind her with three clicks. Not the kind of locking mechanism one would expect on a storage room's door, but then again, Astral was no normal city.

Abby had hacked into ONI's files of the place, there were ruins on this planet that were neither human or covenant in origin, problem was, anyone that went inside them never came back. Curse or active defense system? That was anyone's guess, yet the Office thought it was some sort of animal living in the ruins, a test subject of sort. Some notes indicated ONI had gathered a couple specimens, but there was no direct indications of it.

Something bad had happened with these creatures and ONI had wiped all mention of them out off the databases.

Something nudged the back of her brain and she checked one of the boxes.

LIVE SPECIMEN, THREAT LEVEL OMEGA

Threat level Omega? That was the kind of classification an Elite would get, yet the boxes were barely big enough to contain a cat or a small dog!

She touched one of the airtight steel boxes, trying to sense and motion inside, but there was nothing.

Something moved in the room, out of sight, but not out of sensor range.

Her 5B snapped up and she checked the area's schematics, superposing them to the motion sensors.

Whatever it was, it would be hiding inside that container, in the left corner of the room.

She advanced carefully. The door of the container hung open slightly, letting her see a boot and leg, lying limp on the floor.

She opened the thing with one hand, rifle in the other one, held ready.

When she entered, tiny round shadows scrambled out of sight and away from the corpse, on the floor. Abby could make out an ODST BDU, but no IFF.

She approached the downed soldier and kneeled. Quite a gross sight, something had clawed its way in the man's chest trough a plasma burn in his chest plate a look in the hole revealed a yellow-gray organ that corresponded to nothing in the human body. A parasite.

A modified DMR sat discarded on the floor and Abby choked, quickly checking the weapon.

The whole firing chamber had been replaced by that of an MA5 series weapon. She would recognize that kind of brilliant amateurism anywhere, but hoped to be wrong.

Abby unclasped the ODST's helmet, drew in a long breath, and pull it off.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Sitting on the floor with blood all over him and an alien parasite inside his chest cavity was Chris-G051. His armor had been torn to the point it offered as much protection from the cold as a wet rag and his face was frozen in a shocked and pained expression.

Abby checked him for pulse, but with that cold, his skin was as hard as his armor. If the parasite hadn't finished him, hypothermia did.

The young Spartan had a whole week of fighting written over his armor and body; his visor was cracked, right shoulder pad burnt away, along with the uniform and the skin underneath, his plasma burns in the stomach, bullet wounds in the chest so close to the heart it seemed ridiculous, multiple dents in the whole armor telling whoever would listen of Chris' taste for close combat.

From the chunks of sick looking flesh that covered the floor, she supposed he had killed a lot of parasites before being taken.

Abby picked the DMR off the ground to look at the rifle's clip. It resisted for a second, the metal frozen in place, but eventually gave into the Spartan's strength. Chris had died without a single round left in his gun. A good death, the way he would have wanted to go.

She grabbed a survival blanket from her pouch and covered the body with it, half expecting her comrade to unfreeze and wake up, half wanting to hide the sight while she searched the room.

The shapes that had scattered away were nowhere to be seen and her motion sensors were acting up on her, detecting over a hundred contacts all over the room.

Abby's instinct told her something was wrong, so she follower it and closed the containers door before calling Iona on a secure channel.

"What's up Abe?"

"Found Chris, he's… MIA."

There was a pause, but when Iona spoke again, Abby could barely hear the pain in her you _find_ someone, they're not MIA, unless they're Spartans.

"Copy that, what's your progress?"

"Stuck in a container with unknown hostiles eager to eat my face outside."

"Alright, I got your position locked; I'll send Bob to assist."

"Comprende, Et Iona?" She continued in spanish.

"Si?"

"Sé fuerte, mi hermana."

"Et tu."

She signed off and Aimed her rifle at the door, back turned to her friend's corpse.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22: Spartan MIA<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 3, H District.]-**

The third armored division had set up a fortified position in a small park down on level three, blockading all four streets leading to it with their tanks and Warthogs and setting up prefab structures amongst the genetically enhanced pine trees.

The park was approximately seventy meters wide by a hundred meters large, stuck amongst the concrete blocks that were the assembly lines of Astral, just a hundred meters north of the industrial district.

There used to be grass in it, but the constant fighting and tank threads had turned the ground into mud and the titanium plates underneath could be seen at some places.

Every off duty member of the division were now chattering around Bob while he listened to his new missions order.

When the Spartan announced Chris was 'MIA', the whole Third armored division fell silent. They knew exactly what that meant.

They had known the kid for only five days, but during that short time span, Chris had gained their respects. He'd taken a hell of a beating to get the job done and went even further, deciding to set off alone into the depth of the city and try to use the Superintendent as a mean of taking back Astral.

Bob couldn't believe his pal was dead. G051 simply could not die! That thought had imposed itself in the sniper's brain as being fact, but now he understood; _in the real world, everyone dies._

He grabbed a sniper rifle from the division's armory, having lost his own during insertion. That was not lost on Kennedy and the Ranger was soon leaning on a crate with a puzzled expression.

"Something you wanted?" Bob asked, grimly. He was not in the mood for games. He was not in the mood for anything but killing.

"Yeah," the soldier began, "I was wondering how you'd killed those guy back there without a rifle…"

Bob drew his magnum sidearm and showed Ken an empty clip. He then tossed the SRS99D-S2 AM in a hardcase and secured the thing on his back. He also requisitioned a BR55 on his way out, leaving a puzzled Army Ranger alone in the armory tent.

The Spartan strolled through the camp and to a row of Mongoose ATVs. He liked the design of those; fast, light and easy to conceal. He straddled one of them and was about to leave when an ONI operator wearing Scout armor jumped on the one next to him. He packed a designated marksman rifle and what seemed to be a lot of C-11 explosive charges.

His helmet had the markings 'SMITH' over the visor.

"Sir?" Bob tried to find a way to tell him to piss off without being impolite, the ONI officer was faster.

"Shut up, son, I was killing covies before Acker started that cheap SPARTAN knockoff, so don't grow all high and mighty on me, you're just UNSC equipment, like me. I need to fulfil my role, like the well-oiled gear I am and you must help me do it, now drive before I kick your augmented ass back to Onyx."

At least six security violations right there, enough to justify shooting the man, his family and anyone he ever had sex with.

Bob started his mongoose and drove off.

As they stopped at the northern checkpoint, Bob spotted a female Corpsman heading for the ONI guy with her helmet in her hand. He recognized aggression when he saw it, but in this particular case, he didn't care.

The punch, aided by the helmet the woman held, was enough to throw Smith in the dirt.

Benti then jumped over the Mongoose and stood over the ONI officer, panting in anger.

"You motherfucker! You sent him down there! He died because of you!"

Smith actually laughed. "Dear, the Spartan was just a piece of equipment; he failed to fulfill his intended purpose and was destroyed in the process. Regrettable, bu..."

Bob grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the floor one handed. "His name was Chris. He was my brother. If I find out his death could have been avoided, I will kill you." His tone was so cold it could have frozen hydrogen. Smith was unimpressed.

"Of course his death could have been avoided, had he chosen a normal life instead of that of a Spartan."

Bob dropped the man and sat back on his ATV.

He had left emotions take over, it was a bad thing, he should not have… But fucking hell it felt good.

Benti looked at Bob and sighed. "You knew Chris?"

"Yes."

"He was a good guy… He deserved better."

"He did."

"Kill the motherfuckers responsible for me, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, the sniper drove off, closely followed by Smith.

00000000000000000000

Abby blinked in confusion when her shield flared and dropped by ten percent.

A look over her shoulder revealed nothing but a couple yellow snowflakes.

Wait. Snowflakes? Inside a container at the lowest level of the city? No way!

Just as that thought made its way through her brain, some large bulbous sphere leapt at her from the darkness. She dodged but it still exploded against her shields. Dropping it to eighty percent.

Two more leapt at her from the front and she cursed as even more appeared from holes in the side of the container.

Her rifle flared up and little flesh bulbs exploded all around, yet more replace them almost right away, practically littering the floor.

She had to leave, this place wasn't safe anymore.

Abe busted out the door and winked her acknowledgment light red three times. Distress signal.

"We're coming Abby!"

She stomped on some of the little bastards, shot some more, now holding her sidearm in her left hand and assault rifle in the right.

Both reticules materialized, moving around her HUD in sync with the weapons.

Even with the added firepower, Abby quickly found herself down to ten percent shields.

She jumped on the container and dropped a pair of frags, setting off a chain reactions that wiped the whole room clean, but the parasites still kept coming from somewhere and she was soon surrounded, having to empty clips after clips just to give her shield a chance of recharging.

0000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, A District.]-**

Trevor sprinted across the battlefield, firing the Gauss cannon. The recoil alone was enough to stop him dead in his track at each shot, despite the highly advanced dampeners.

The ALAS troopers stood behind cover in terror before the mighty giant. Trevor had been having a great deal of fun whipping them out, but now Abby needed backup, so he needed to end this fast.

He left the Gauss hang on the chain he used in lieu of harness and drew a pair of MA37s, firing both as if they were just SMG.

Dual wielding went against all chief Mendez had taught him, but the suit was engineered with that king of things in mind and compensated for it so well he would have been a fool not to use it.

The Spartan leapt into the ALAS forces' trench and, aiming a gun in each direction, wiped everyone out with two clips and fifteen seconds.

Next, he walked up to the big boxy construct the Innies were protecting. A vent leading straight to the Superintendant level.

He tore off the top and punched the fan into submission before attaching a rappel rope to the support struts of the helixes.

He could jump in there armor locked, it was just a seventy meters drop, but there were way too many variables and, fuck, he was not an ODST; feet first into hell was cool but it had its limits.

He remembered when he was young, he'd climb that huge cement block with Baird, his big brother. There were large steel ropes on the sides, no one really knew what was the point of that thing, but Trev and his brother would still climb it every summer when the snow had melted away.

Baird was actually his stepbrother and almost twenty years older, so when Trevor joined the Spartan III program, Mike had long since joined the ODST.

Trevor left himself slide down the rope, just as he did back in Scotland. His memories of Chris and him soon replacing the older ones.

Chris… Damn, the first person Trev had met in the Spartan program, the first friend he ever had.

Bastard probably died with his fist down someone's throat and his feet up someone else's ass… While banging both their daughters, defiant bastard.

Fuck, a part of Trev's brain expected G051 to get on the comm. and bitch about having the mother of all hangovers.

He waited.

His radio remained stubbornly silent.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23: Flooding Astral<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 3, A District.]-**

Abby was down to swinging her plasma gauntlet left and right to keep the enemy from doing to her what they did to G051 and, so far, she was succeeding.

The room had somewhat of an H shape, the piles of contaiders leaving only a narrow corridor for her to cross trough. On the other side was the door that would lead to the cooling units and, from there, to the Superintendent room, where she could barricade herself, yet she would have to cross that pass between the containers and it just reeked of ambush.

With all of her weapons dry and her shields never rising about twenty percent, walking trough an ambush really didn't seem like the best of ideas.

Her defense gauntlet sprung to life and five parasites exploded against it, turning the thing from ale blue to purple. Abe then fired her jetpacks to leap over the container, scanning as she went.

There were twisted humanoid forms crouching on top of the containers. She did not see them for very long, but had time to see tentacles, claws and bulbous flesh.

Four of the creatures were waiting to jump her and she could have sworn one of them wore ODST BDUs…

The Spartan landed in front of the door, which was not sealed like the other, and quickly ran into the next room.

00000000000000000000000

Bob ran through the freezing hallways of the seventh level, arriving at a junction. He aimed his weapon both ways and decided to go left. Behind him Smith had a hard time keeping up.

G123 sprinted the two hundred meters to the end of that corridor in ten seconds and slammed into the thick ice wall at fifty kilometers per hour, cracking the whole surface.

"What the fuck you doing?" Called the specialist from behind him.

"Her signal is on the other side of that thing." Bob explained, cursing himself for having wasted all his incendiary grenades.

Never again.

"There's another way in, follow me."

Bob did and they backtracked fifty meters, to a door large enough for a Warthog to fit through.

Smith typed something on the controls and frowned.

"Locked. The console is not responding…"

Bob ripped the shit out of the keyboard with his rifle's stock, to Smith's frustration.

"You can't hack this, the SI shut the power. It's only a big mass of metal now."

"Any other way?" The sniper was still ice cold.

"No."

"Then blow it up." He nodded to the backpack full of explosives the ONI Specialist packed.

"This city is badly damaged, if we…"

Bob kicked the door with all his might, to no avail.

"Trev, where are you?"

"Turn around."

Bob did, his piercing glare taking in everything. The rows of fans on the ceiling, the frozen hallway, the pipes on the ceiling…

Seven foot of armored super soldier suddenly and brutally ripped through the fan two meters ahead in an explosion of sparks and debris.

Trevor's armor was marked with many bullet hits, but none had penetrated, he also displayed plenty of scratches from what appeared to have been fragmentation grenades.

"Been busy?"

"Just ran a few errands for Iona."

Iona… Bob looked at Smith and something clicked in his head.

"Hey, you're the guy Chris was sent to get?"

"Yes, he completed his assignment flawlessly, but getting me out of the planet proved impossible…"

Bob didn't listen anymore. He raised Iona on the comm. and told her about the situation.

"Understood, get G225 out of there. G317, B312 and I will back you up in ten, Oscar Mike."

"Copy."

Meanwhile, Trevor was stroking the blast door, feeling every imperfection, every bumb… There.

He pulled back a little and kicked so hard icicles fell off the ceiling all across the level. The door caved but held on.

Abe voiced her concern almost right after.

"Puta madre! Trevor? Tell me that was you just now!"

"It was. Don't worry."

"Be very careful, Trev, hostiles beyond that door you're trying to open, lots of parasitic organism. Small, but they got Chris..."

Smith slowly backed away, but Bob quickly got between him and the passage to the outside.

"Step aside, Spartan."

"What's in there?" His voice made it clear there was only one right answer, the truth.

"Classified beyond codename Top Secret, son, drop it, your friend is done, we need to sterilize this level and…"

Bob drew his sidearm and shot the man on the knee. Trevor yelled something, but the sniper was not listening. The ONI specialist sat on the floor, contorting in pain.

"You killed Chris, you won't kill Abby. What's in there?"

"I'll get you court marshaled for this, you'll be executed." The wounded man roared, clutching his leg.

"You seem to think you'll be leaving this place alive. You won't. Only question is, how painful is your death going to be."

"You don't understand…"

"Because you're not telling me."

Smith sat up and sneered.

"I. Don't. Know. Samples of some Covenant Bio-weapon, I think, we need to wipe them out…"

"You kept Bio-weapons under a civilian population center? Are you fucking insane? What if there is a containment breach, or…"

Smith's body language spoke volumes. Trevor was the first to catch up.

"ALAS, Astral Liberation Armed Service. They're not really Innies…"

"They went against UNSC laws!" Smith explained.

"They were defending themselves!" Bob roared back, punching the man in the face hard enough to shatter his visor. "What the fuck did you tell them it was?"

"Covenant attack, we told them to barricade themselves. After a while, we contained the infestation, but before we could end it, the rebellion broke out."

"Contained? How?"

Smith did not talk for a few seconds. "By executing anyone we suspected to be infected. It had to be done, the parasites spread so fast…"

Bob punched the man again and threw his unconscious body away, hoping he'd get brain damages.

"Trev."

"Bob?"

"Open than mother fucking door."

Trevor kept kicking without tiring for almost five minutes. That door was built with explosions in mind, not angry Spartans in a hurry, so once Fal linked up with them, adding her own strength to Trevor's, the door officially did not stand a snowball's chance in hell.

Once the heavy steel plate was out of the way, both Spartans stepped out of the way and Bob began firing on semi-automatic. Although he was pressing the trigger so fast it might as well have been full auto.

The football shaped parasites attempted to crawl their way to the Spartans, but quickly died under the pinpoint accurate fire of the sniper.

Thirty two bullets and more than a hundred victims latter, Bob stepped back to let Fal and her auto shotgun take over.

G317's concept of aiming revolved roughly around 'spray and pray' and 'accuracy by volume' which seemed effective in this particular case.

Blobs of flesh exploded all across the room and Trev's turn soon came.

Trevor was somewhere in between Bob and Fal; check where your shots are going, but make sure to shoot at as many things as possible.

His two assault rifles ran dry after only a minute, but Bob had long since finished reloading his rifle and once again stepped in the middle of the doorstep.

"Frags!" He called, noticing the sudden increase in the flow of enemy.

His team mates answered by pulling the pin on two grenades each before tossing the four explosive balls in the room.

"Frag out!" They both called.

Bob activated his defense gauntlet and hid behind it as the frags went off barely four meters ahead.

Before the dust, -actually, bits of shredded parasites- set down, he resumed firing, picking off the last few survivors.

The flow stopped. He signaled the others to cover him and went in, rifle trained at the shadows. Nothing happened. Nothing on thermal and nothing on motions.

"Clear!" He called. G317 and G186 entered in the room, covering both flanks while Bob went to investigate the container to the right. Four or five corpses were lying on the floor in front of it, dismembered and deformed.

They seemed rotted, way more than they should have, given the temperature, and someone had used a sharp object to dismember them completely.

Bob peeked in the container, but it was empty, except for a pond of frozen blood at the end of it.

Abe's NAV marker indicated G051's body was supposed to be in there.

"Guys, I think we might have a situation here…"

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24: Staff Sergeant ChrisG051<strong>

* * *

><p>ONI G051_SIIIOmAs-JSEXT.

Warning: P-09446 Lost.

Warning: Liaison officer 0963-4582GM **KIA**

Warning: Operator G051 **WIA**

Mission Status:

Insert on Omega Astralis: **Success.**

Locate John Smith: **Success.**

Extract John Smith: **In progress**

00000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 7, A District.]-**

In the Darkness, here is only hunger. Hunger and a faint bacon smell.

_You are needed._ The echoe bounces off the inner walls of my mind.

"I'm _dead_, fuck the _Nee_." My voice is weak, yet just as it was when I lived.

_Death is but a step in one's life, one you haven't reached yet. Stand, warrior, you live._

"Fuck, I'm totally insane… I'm an insane ghost!" Weirdest statement ever.

_You are the ghost of Edward and Sylvia, shaped like a blade trough fire, ice and pain. Life is your burden and your duty, one you may not substrate yourself to._

"Edw… My parents."

_They reached the step without you. Do not be so hasty to join them, there is much work to be done. Now get up, Spartan._

"But it's so cold out there…" I see the members of Orca, their face contorted in pain as they are being eaten alive.

_Then they will die._

Trev… Bob, Abe… No! I'm dead, it's not my concern anymore! I earned to be left alone! I just want to sleep, why can't I just die in peace!

_BECAUSE YOU ARE A SPARTAN, NOW, GET THE FUCK __**UP!**_

I feel like someone just ripped out my heart and replaced it by a plasma grenade, heat radiating from my back to my chest.

Pain is the privilege of the living. No clue who said that, but it always intrigued me.

I think it was Curtis. "If it hurts, then you're alive. Pain is the privilege of the living!"

I'm alive. I can help my friends. Only if I get up.

Something is pinning me to the floor and compressing my lungs.

I pat my chest, but my fingers are stiff, numb and covered with ice, so much I'm pretty sure I should have died of hypothermia yet.

I'm not wearing a helmet, nor much clothing for that matter, as a look down reveals.

Oh, and there's a fist sized hole in my chest. I plunge my fingers in it. Why? No clue.

The pain flares up to phenomenal levels. It's unnatural, I must get it off.

I have no feeling in my fingers, but I still pat around until the pain flares once more. Then, I use my hand as a shovel to force the foreign organ out.

Its hurts all the way up my spine and behind my eyes. Good, I'm doing it right.

Something within my chest gives and I pull a whole football shaped creature that wiggles flowers at my face.

Fuck, this was _inside_ me? The thing hit the metal wall with a wet sound, dead.

I push myself off the floor, feeling like my armor was glued to it and draw my sidearm, wrapping my fingers around it sloppily, the rifle is on the ground ahead, but there's frozen blood all over the inner workings. My blood.

I should be dead… What the fuck happened to me? Where am I? Where are Smith and the others?

Not gonna find out in here, am I?

I walk out of the container I was in and strap my helmet back on.

There's some bio-foam in my backpack and I use it to fill the hole in my chest cavity, dropping the pistol in the process.

My suit's bio-scanner says my body is about to go into full systemic shock from the blood loss, frost bites and various trauma, so I inject myself a double dose of stimulants.

It gets my heart pumping harder and fills my extremities with a tingling. Feels much better and I'm able to think clearly.

I retrieve the M6, this time I can hold it and should be able to shoot if needed.

"This is ONI Operator G051, does anyone read me?" My signal indicator flashes red. No comms. Great.

Something moves in my peripheral vision and my gun is aimed at it in a blink.

Holy fuck, what happened to the guy?

"You okay man?"

For all response, the deformed shape moans, its bloated chest swelling like a giant tumorous lung, and leaps at me, earning three bullets in the guts for its trouble. My heart is pumping at full speed now, filling my body with sensations, cold being the most obvious.

I spin around and spot two more hostiles on top of the container I just left.

They used to be human, but now they're mutated, like that Soren guy Mendez told us about. They both jump off the crate at speed worthy of a Spartan and I decide to do the same, tossing my survival blanket aside, drawing both my combat knives and throwing the pistol in the air.

They whip at me with tentacles like fingers that bite deep in my arms' armor and flesh, but I retaliate with my knives, cutting off their own weapons.

I then flip my weight backward and land on the container on my back. Both knives clatter on the metal top as I snatch the M6D midflight and empty the clip in the faces of both attackers, upside down and blood dripping from my arms.

They don't even flinch.

I roll on my knees and reload swiftly. This time just observing my adversaries.

A yellow substance is dripping from their severed whips. Interesting, no blood?

I peek at my arms, feeling a weird but not unpleasant feeling crawling along the shallow cuts.

They're not bleeding anymore, yet a second before, the things were leaking blood like a stock pig. A closer look reveals the blood has caked already and the wounds are slowly cicatrizing, fast enough for me to visually observe the difference. In a day or so, there won't be anything left. It doesn't hurt anymore already.

"Now _this _is interesting."

The bastard I shot first is getting back up and a new one just appeared from the darkness of the room, so I guess my new regenerative abilities will have to wait.

I'm down on my last clip, better make it count.

I pump round after round where vital organs should have been, trying to find a weakness, to no avail.

Two of them decide to stop fucking around and rush me just then, so I pick up my knives and drop into a defensive stance.

"You do realize I will have to hurt you guys a lot, now…"

They jump in perfect sync and I leap right back.

My knives whistles through the air and cuts flesh with a zipping sound, but I don't see what kind of damage I made, since my eyes are fixed on a third target, still on the floor and wearing the remains of an ODST BDU.

Headshots were not effective, so I go for complete dismemberment, slicing both arms at shoulder level upon impact. The thing collapses under me and I jump off it, unto its pal, behind it.

With this one, I dig both knives in the chest, near those red antennas.

Juice sprays across my face, blinding me long enough for something to claw at my back.

It's horrible, like getting whipped, but ten times worst.

I spin around and slash wildly at where my senses tell me my enemy is. I feel the strange antennas on my left wrist along the way and plunge my knife right there.

The substance in my eyes is already freezing. I need to wipe it fast.

Doing so almost gets me killed. I look up, now seeing shit, just as the last remaining bastard is about to behead me.

I pounce him and run my fist through its chest, tearing out a creature just like the one I pulled from my own sternum.

The last mutant standing doesn't have arms anymore, but it's growing tentacles to replace them, so I hurry and remove the parasite from its chest. Seen enough hentai to know where this was going…

Then, it's hack and slash time. It's gruesome, but I gotta do it.

No clue how those fuckers survived being shot up like that, but I'm not taking any chances.

000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 7, A District.]-**

Trevor looked at the wounds on the corpses and got back up, Gauss canon held ready. He had only twenty more shots, but these would be enough to bring down whatever had done this. These would be enough to bring down a fucking frigate.

"Abe, can you access the area's blueprints?" Fal called, popping fresh shells in her empty clips.

"Sure."

"Send them to my HUD."

She did and he found himself analyzing the outlines of the area. Linked to that room was some oversized freezer, a de-activated freight elevator and an unmarked room, just next to the freezer.

"Bob, take up overwatch on these containers, kill anything that tries to leave and isn't us."

"Wilco." The sniper jumped without needing to activate his jet pack and caught unto the edge of the container, five meters ahead. Using just arms strength, he propelled itself higher, unto the one above and then flicked on his active camo. Running it on his primary power supply instead of the secondary one. Primary usually served to power the shield and offered a constant flow of power. Secondary amassed juice from primary's surplus and was used for running contextual equipment. It ran out after time, but allowed Spartans to use equipment without switching off their shields.

Bob also flipped his hood over the GUNGNIR helmet, to blur the shape some more.

Satisfied, Fal locked and loaded her EPAS16/A7 JACKAL shotgun and took point with Trev's Mammoth of a gun covering her back. Size might not be all that matters, but in G186's case, it sure seemed to be.

Fal remembered a time when they were both of equal size and strength, now it was Chris who… Used to be closer to Trev in term of muscle.

She entered a corridor so narrow they could barely fit in. A perfect ambush point.

Yet nothing happened. Weird, where had the little balls gone to? Had they gotten them all?

"Hey, Bob."

"Yeah, Fal?"

"Who's the passed out guy in front of the room, anyway?"

0000000000000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 7, A District.]-**

I close the door and collapse on the floor, rolling to crush the little mothefucker. One of them manages to get in trough the half sealed hole in my chest. Bloody fuck!

"Get out! Get out you bastard!"

I stab myself in the stomach, killing the parasite in the process before it wraps itself around my spine like the last. Fucking bastard.

I don't know if they are the ones that mutated the four guys in the other room and I don't really care to find out, thanks.

There are bits of dead parasite sticking from my chest. I pull them out one by one.

_Fuck… Man, this is fucked…_

One of them is dug deep and I need to yank it out, causing a surge of pain that brings water in my eyes.

Pain is good, they say, tells you you're alive… I'm alive alright.

I fill the hole with my last supply of bio-foam and check the DMR.

To get out of here, I'll need a gun and my M6 is dry…

The back of my brain wants to curl into a ball and sleep. I know with that cold, it would be an inadvisable course of action, but sue me; they never covered _this_ in basics.

I snuggle tighter into the thin survival blanket and begin taking my weapon apart.

The stims wore off a few minutes ago, hours before they were supposed to, so now I'm back to freezing my ass off and dealing with numbness.

My nose is dripping abundantly and the mucus keeps freezing on my upper lip, distracting me from my maintenance job. I stick my hands in my pants, the only intact piece of clothing I'm wearing. Feeling slowly returns to them and I resume my shaky work.

Firing pin? Clean. Trigger mechanism? Clear. Cannon… Who cares? Loader? Aw fuck.

One hour's work at least. Hope I don't freeze to death before I'm done.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: Missing On Action<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Athenian: 'We have often driven you from the Cephisus'.<em>

_Spartan: 'But we have never driven you from the Eurotas!'_

_'Cephisus' is a river that flows through the Athenian plain, and 'Eurotas' is a river that flows near Sparta._

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 7, A District.]-**

Fal and Trever opened the door to the unmarked room, but only found a smaller storage area.

While G187 covered her back, Fal kneeled and inspected the floor.

Bits of dead parasites all around, some blood and a Bio-foam injector.

She picked the injector and sprayed it in her hand. Empty.

No body. She wondered what that could mean.

"Keep your eyes opened, people, I think we have a live one going around…"

Chris? Wouldn't be a surprise; stubborn bastard.

"Trevor, check on the elevator."

His acknowledgment light winked green and Fal made her way to the freezer. Whatever did they need a coolant room for in a place like this?

The doors hissed out of the way and she stepped in, weapon raised.

A scan of the room revealed nothing interesting and her motions sensors were totally flat. Boxes filled the freezer, neatly marked and secured on shelves. A single door remained, across the room.

"Abe, you can get out. Area is clear."

The door ahead slid open and G225 stepped out, her EVA armor completely covered in alien gore.

"That blood and guts thing's a good look on you…"

"Chinga tu madre, cabrone."

Fal grinned and froze when Trevor winked his light red two times.

Trouble.

She tossed an SMG to her team mate and spun around. The giant was in sight, looking at something on the floor of the elevator, twenty meters further.

They joined him and looked at the condemned elevator. It looked… Condemned.

"What's wrong, Trev?" Fal asked in mild annoyance.

He handed her what seemed to be an M118 round casing.

Fal checked case and handed it to Abby, still not getting where this was going.

"Hmm… This was fired from an MA5… Wait… Not really… Strange…" Then she dropped the shell, half excited, half horrified, "This came from Chris' rifle!"

"So what?" Fal was a Spartan, she was smart, but too lazy for puzzles. That was Iona or Abby's job.

"No one came in here before you and no one left…"

"So what do you think happened?" Trevor seemed pretty calm, as if he already knew the answer.

Abe considered for a second. "I think Chris woke up, patched himself up, grabbed his gun and climbed that elevator shaft despite deadly injuries and hypothermia…"

They all looked at each other for almost a minute, a lifetime to a Spartan, trying to come up with another plausible answer from what information they had.

Maybe someone had come down that shaft, but then, that someone would have gotten attacked by the footballs and why would they bother dragging a frozen body with them?

"Iona's here." Bob's voice made them all jump slightly.

The team leader stepped out of the passage between containers, closely followed by a Spartan in MkIV MJOLNIR armor.

"Report." Fal snapped a salute and filled her superior in on the situation while the Beta girl walked up to Trevor. She nodded to his Gauss canon.

"Overkill, don't you think?"

"Negative, there is no such thing as overkill, only friend, enemy and dead, this helps the transition from one group to another."

She actually chuckled at that. "So, what do we have?"

"Parasite infestation, Bio weapons."

She looked up the shaft. "We're going to have a problem if they climbed up there…"

Both Abby and Trevor contemplated this for a second. "Why?" Abe finally asked, giving up.

"This leads straight to the starport."

There was a collective "Aw fuck no." at that.

0000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[-]-**

I keep climbing, one pull after another. Only twenty meters to the surface and these footballs are right behind me, I can hear them.

Climbing faster causes the frozen rope to tear off chunks of skin from my bare hands.

I shouldn't let these horrors get out, die so they stay contained or some shit, but then again, I already know there is not a single ship on the landing strips and this place is going to be glassed soon enough.

Ten meters.

To keep some distance between my pursuers and myself, I need to climb with just my arms, like a monkey, but damn it's not pleasant, especially with a half healed plasma burn to the shoulder.

I make it ground level, held back only by blast door, which I force open after a small leap. They are the size of a M12 FAV, but I'm a Spartan; they come apart quickly.

The two moons of Astralis are the first thing I notice.

Second is a pair of MA5Cs with flashlights on aimed at my face. Behind the marines holding the weapons is a whole fleet of _Albatross_ Dropship.

"Who the fuck are…" He spots something behind me and I spin on the spot, opening fire at the same time as the two Marines. Parasites are pouring out of the freight elevator, booth, spreading around like a flood…

"Shit, we need backup!"

"Have those ship lift off NOW!" I order and the Marine relays it to his commander.

"Says…" I can guess the rest.

"Rogue Spear, NBC threat! Do it or I throw you down that shaft!"

Takes four second for the ships to scramble.

We form a line and the Marines soon understand their survival is dependent on my continued firing, so they make sure to feed me a lot of ammunition whenever I ask for it.

No clue where he came from, but I soon find myself alongside a Hellbringer who sprays the whole elevator booth. I try to pick out some of the parasites that get away, but there's too many and they're too fast for me to get them all.

A Marine yells in pain as one of the things latches onto his chest, digging in just like they did with me. Where this guy differs, however, is when he seems to… bloom. Claws and tentacles replacing fingers, skin melting away and bones snapping in an instant.

The infected marines leap at the Hellbringer, but I fire into his chest at full auto and spin kick the corpse away to prevent it from stopping flamer guy's flow of napalm.

Hey, at least it's not freezing so much anymore.

00000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 7, A District.]-**

A dead and flaming parasite landed straight on Trevor's helmet, spraying juice all over Orca team. The elevator was more of a platform with a pair of beams linking it to a pulley, no roof, so dead parasites soon began raining down the shaft.

"Yuk." Was G186's only reaction.

"Abby," Iona started, looking up at the swarms of aliens climbing the shaft, sixty meters above, "Can you get that elevator moving again?"

"Me? No." She pointed to Trevor, "He can."

These elevators had an emergency crank that could allow it to descend smoothly; in the eventuality it got stuck. A few modifications by Abe and it worked the other way around.

Of course, being the strongest, Trev was left the honor of using it first.

"You ain't planning on leaving me here, are you?" Bob's voice had regained some of its spunk.

"No Bob, you can fall back." Iona sighed.

She did almost forget about the sniper.

With over three tons of steel in the elevator, Trevor began cranking.

00000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, S District.]-**

The Hellbringer and I are sitting inside a somehow still open Café, the owner, a graying woman with an ODST tattoo on her arm, seems pleased to see us, despite me looking like a corpse. I guess the fact I'm wearing ODST armor –or what's left ofone- got her sympathy.

"There you are, kids, on the house!" She drops two steaming soups and coffees on our table and walk away to serve another pair of marines.

"So," I begin while the Hellbringer takes off his… Oh, _her_ helmet. "You wanted something?"

"First, you look like shit. Eat." I do as asked and soon find myself gurgling down the whole bowl of thick orange and spicy liquid. It's hot and burns my throat, but it also warms me up, a feeling I had almost forgotten.

An oppressing headache I hadn't even noticed is alleviated as well. God, this thing just became my favorite dish, even though I know just any meal would have had that effect.

"So… What the fuck happened to you?" I analyze the Navy Specialist.

Mid twenties, hard ass, tattoo of a tear under her left eye and buzz cut hairs.

"I don't remember much… I came here to look for…"

She looks hurt. "You mean you don't remember me?"

When the hell did a meet a Hellbringer? Then again, who knows what I blanked out. Last I remember, I had a grizzly tank, a pretty good armor and had just killed a whole bunch of Elites.

I tell her just that.

"Well, let me get your shit in order; I'm Vicky, I helped you extract that ONI bastard and waited for days for you two to show up here for airlift. Where. Were. You!"

Vicky… Right, it rings a bell; she was part of an Army Spec. Ops. Team sent to wipe all relevant data from the ONI outpost. She and her team took me in and extracted Lopez. Can't remember much else.

"Down on level seven."

"For Two days?"

"How should I know?"

She takes a sip from her coffee and sigh.

"Sorry, Chris, I was just worried…" Vicky slumps in her seat and the owner brings me another serving of soup.

"Worried for me?" Why would she be? Were we close? I would remember if we had been, right? I mean, I know she's someone I liked having around, seeing her makes me feel all fuzzy inside, like seeing Lucy used to.

Memories are so much more important than I gave them credit for; just a few hours gone, and I seem to have lost a close friend…

"Were we close?" I decide to ask her, more directly.

She shrugs, "Yeah, I guess so, you're not the most easy guy to read, but yeah, I think we're friends." Never had a friend outside Orca and Shark…

Shark… I wonder what they're doing. The rest of Gamma still has some time to go before deployment, so I guess they're playing wargames on Onyx.

I miss Onyx.

I miss everything about it, even the Chief.

Okay, not the Chief, but I'd still be happy to see the old bastard.

"Alright, look, Spartans came in today from the _In Amber Clad_, they were looking for you, said you died, even. Real sad; I cried, some of the boys too.

Anyway, they left shit for you on the landing strip, but it was moved after we began evacuating civvies, now it's packed on an _Elephant_ in Third Armored's HQ. I guess we'll need to go there and get you geared up…"

Damn she talks fast!

"What kind of gear?"

"MJOLNIR Armor, duh."

Damn, I feel like I missed twenty episodes right about now. Twenty episodes of my own life, to boot! What Spartans? Orca? Why did they think I was dead? Surely if they had found me down there they wouldn't have left my corpse behind to rot!

One step at a time. Let's retrieve the most expensive piece of equipment to ever be manufactured for a grunt and _then _begin looking for answers.

"Alright, let's go then." I announce, getting up, but Vicky stops me.

"No, you're getting some sleep, Ronda's got a room for you, I'll go get you some warm clothes, ammo and bandages, just wait for me in the room.

'Rest is a weapon as powerful as any sniper rifle' Curtis was very insistent on that point; always sleep if you can.

_Ronda_, the owner, walks up to us and nod toward the staircase, at the back of the shop.

"Don't worry, Sparty, I got your back, you can sleep tight."

Vicky then gets up and I follow suit, noticing the magnum hung at the former ODST's belt. Ronda hugs Vicky and waves her goodbye as the Hellbringer leaves the restaurant, immediately going back in combat mode once she's out the door.

She checks her surroundings for snipers and sprint across the street, disappearing in one of the many tents ahead.

I turn around and go to bed.


	6. Burnt Whale

**Chapter 26: Walk the Fire**

* * *

><p><em>Philip II of Macedon, with key Greek city-states in submission, turned his attention to Sparta and sent a message:<em>

_"If I win this war, you will be slaves forever."_

_In another version, Philip proclaims:_

_"You are advised to submit without further delay, for if I bring my army into your land, I will destroy your farms, slay your people, and raze your city."_

_According to both accounts, the Spartans sent back a one word reply:_

_"If."_

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, S District.]-**

I wake up to Astral's blue sun shining in my face from the window. My augmented ears can pick up at least eight firefights in the distance and one explosion.

A few days ago, this would have gotten me out of bed and running for the nearest weapon, now, it feels as natural as the chirping of birds.

I sit up, expecting something to at least hurt, but it doesn't. A look at my wounds reveals they are all pretty much sealed, except the one in my stomach, which still filled up with cicatrizing tissues and is now half as big as it was when I went to bed.

I check myself for signs of complication on areas of my body with fourth degrees frostbites, but they seem to be doing just fine. Interesting, no swelling, nothing, as if I had never woken up almost naked in the lower levels of a barely habitable polar city…

I am only wearing my BDU pants now, the rest fell apart when I tried to get it off before going to bed and is now lying on the floor in a lump.

The M6 -for which Ronda gave me some ammo- is the nightstand. I pick up and stick it in my belt before walking out the room.

Down the stairs, Ronda is cleaning up her magnum, a pair of ALAS troopers sipping on their coffees in a corner of the shop.

She told me her shop was neutral ground, so I resist the urge to draw my weapon. This shit goes against all I was ever taught, but I'll bite. Right now, Astral's Liberation Armed Service is the tiniest of my concerns.

"Hey, Spartan, slept well?" Ron throws a side-glance to the Innies and I nod.

"Yes, thank you. Any news on Vicky?"

The café owner fetches a military footlocker from behind the counter and pushes it in front of me.

"Dropped this for ya, said she'd be back in an hour or so."

I open the box and pick up a winter camo Army BDU. Probably stuff the Marines found in an Army base.

I put on the shirt and armor, but keep my current BDU pants. Might not match the color scheme, but it still offers better protection. I put the armor plates over the whole and pick up four Assault rifle clips and seven M6 ones.

My DMR emits a satisfying clicking sound when the MA5 clip clicks in place.

The ammo counter rises to 60 and I feel the comforting weight of the loaded gun in my hands.

Now with warm clothes, armor, ammo and no serious injuries, I feel like I could beat the shit out the Covenants single handed. Fuck, maybe I already did during the few days I blanked out.

I sit at the counter and grab one of Ronda's digital scanners, pressing my thumb to it.

It immediately links my fingerprint to a shared bank account on earth.

It's something Abby whipped up for us; an untraceable account to which she redirected .10 credits from every other existing bank accounts.

There are ten zeroes after the first numbers.

I make a fund transfer of a few thousand credits to Ronda and close the terminal.

She didn't notice anything, but I don't mind, I simply figured someone like that should be rewarded.

And I guess I owe her one.

"Hey… Spartan." The ALAS soldier, clad in a police issue ballistic vest, is now standing next to me. "I wondered, are you here for us, the Covies of ONI's bio-weapons?"

"Classified, but you were never mentioned during the mission briefing." I admit.

He nods and clench his jaw, "You know, we never wanted this war, we just couldn't sit and wait while ONI killed our friends… You know?"

"No, I don't."

He shrugs, "Nevermind, man." Then walks away.

Whatever.

0000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, S District.]-**

By the time Orca team made it to the surface, the whole landing strip had been deserted. Quite a few Marines had met the same fate as the four corpses down in the Warehouse, but there were no parasites in sight.

"This really doesn't look good." Trevor voiced everyone's concern. He was not scared, he had the closest thing to a MAC cannon one could carry right here, in his hands, he was simply aware of how fucked they were.

"You think they got in the dropships?" B312 asked, her MA37 pointed right. Iona, on the left, answered.

"No, I heard a Marine order an emergency take off over the radio before they fell back. The parasites are contained."

"So," Fal began, "That means we're not fucked anymore?"

"That means they're loose in the city." Bob growled, cocking his sniper rifle.

They decided it was best to leave the elevator first and then figure a way to wipe out the parasites. Iona knew just the right thing to do, but it was out of the question until the place was evacuated.

"_In Amber Clad, _this is Orca, requesting intel on location of secondary evac zone. Over."

"Copy, Orca," A man answered in he helmet, "Position is two two five slash zero one one seven, please confirm reception of NAV data."

A navigation marker appeared on her HUD. "Confirmed, Amber, position two two five slash zero one one seven."

"Alright, Orca, Captain Keyes requests you aid in defending dust off zone Beta. Enemy NBC weapons confirmed in the city, use of low yield nukes authorized, so we're getting everyone out."

There was a moment of consternation amongst the Spartans. Nukes? For football meat blobs? "Repeat that last transmission, Amber."

"Use of tactical nukes authorized, Orca, as soon as we get the civilians out, this place is going in flames."

The Spartans immediately got moving, moving on foot to avoid drawing too much attention.

In their armors, the Spartans could easily run at approximately sixty kilometers, B312 and Fal being a little bit faster and Abe a little slower. If they pushed it, they could go to speeds above the hundreds, but it was very dangerous. Fal had tested it and still had her left leg held straight by the HAYABUSA's gel layer, to prevent her torn tendons from deteriorating further.

0000000000000000000

Vicky introduces me to the rest of her patrol. Seems like I knew them, but can't remember.

"This here is Kennedy," She points to a UNSCDF Ranger, leaning on the Warthog's M41 LAAG, "He's the gunner, that's Franklins," She designate a black armored soldier in the passenger seat with a BR55 in hands" the… Well, he's ODST, but we use him as radio, because the Warthog's is dead and he has the most powerful comm. systems. And that's Talim," She shows another Ranger with night vision goggles resting on his helmet, he looks Indian or something, he smiles and nods at me, "He's our driver."

Echo patrol has been assigned to a Marines platoon to provide fire support all the way to Third Armored HQ, so they offered me to tag along.

We're now set up in a garage controlled by the army and everyone is gearing up. I take that opportunity to replace the ammunition in my assault rifle clips by more powerful M392 meant rounds.

Then, I take an healthy supply of Shredder clips, fragmentation grenades, flares, Meals Ready to Eat and a LOT of bio-foam injectors.

"Alright, people!" the Marines sergeant barks, "We're going trough level two, so keep your eyes peeled, that's fucking ambush town down there!"

"Yes sarge!" Comes the general answer.

"Alright," The Lieutenant continues, "form around Echo and keep your eyes peeled, now roll out!"

I am on the left side on the convoy, just next to a Marines sniper.

"ALAS boys have picked up quite a few tricks from fighting the covenants," he explains after about a minute of walking trough the snow, observing each building with great care, "and the Covies have a crapload of jackals set up in the buildings… Just gets worst down in level two, 'cause it ain't as cold down there, so the bastards all set up there…"

I feel like I should already know that… Sounds familiar anyway.

I track a moving shadow with my rifle for a few seconds, but it's just a dog.

It runs away from us and we keep walking, the low hum of the 'hog and the wind itself being the only sounds.

I spot four possible ambush points ahead of us; the intersection ten meters ahead, the rows of houses, fifty meters after that, the sidewalk bridges twenty meters after the houses and the service ramp to level two.

The Intersection is blocked by cars, but they don't look wrecked and the way they are strewn around the street to form a wall shows some premeditation.

"Lieutenant…" I call on the radio, but he just nods, five meters ahead.

"Spartan, you tough enough to clear these by yourself?"

"Easily." I answer, honestly.

"Good, do it, we'll cover you."

"Wilco."

I advance, rifle held at the ready and the Sarge slaps my shoulder, "Watch your ass, son."

I just nod and continue, snapping my gun left and right at the slightest sound.

I don't need to clear the whole blockade, just one or two cars, to let the Warthog trough…

Kneeling behind one of the cars, I carefully inspect every possible sniper positions around with my M392's scope. Nothing note worthy, a radio tower with its top melted, a dark window with pink curtains and the rooftops themselves, the only viable firing positions, are completely motionless.

I remove the handbrake from the first car and begin pushing it away.

*Click-Clack*

I'd recognize that sound anywhere…

I sidestep just in time and the bullet pierced the car trunk instead of my head. Thank god for superhuman hearing…

To the others, it must look like I dodged that bullet, which is, in theory, accurate.

I spin and snap up my own rifle, squeezing three shots trough that window with pink curtains. The Pink sheets turn red in places and I lower my gaze.

As expected, ALAS troopers jump out of hiding right then and start firing at the patrol and me. They are coming fre the streets to my left and right as well as from behind the convoy, using actual abandoned cars as cover.

Dive behind a civilian pickup truck, but it's more concealment that cover, as the bullets go trough the thing like it's thin foil. I'm kinda surrounded right now. Those on the left have too much trouble with the LAAG to notice me –which is great, since otherwise they would have a direct shot at me- and those on the right are just hailing lead on my position.

A pair of rounds whistles past my right ear and I emerge from cover, firing in single mode.

First, I spot a guy hiding behind a car and fire a round right where I estimate his head to be. The asphalt gets painted red and I switch target.

A guy is attempting to rush me with his shotgun, I shoot him in the chest twice.

Another bastard tries to flank me from the direction opposite to the convoy, but has to run ten meters out of cover. When facing a Spartan, that's like having a 'Kill that Dumbass' Neon over your head.

I kill that dumbass and dive out of the way when a frag lands in the truck's bed.

The vehicle explodes, raining debris and shrapnel on me. Once the smoke has cleared out, and I uncurl from the fetal position I had taken, I see a par of ALAS riflemen aim their guns at me.

The Marines finally kick into overdrive and give me some suppressing fire, long enough for me to get up and back behind cover.

My cover is now no more than a big lump of smoking metal, but it offers just as much protection as it used to. None.

A Bullet grazes my shoulder pad and I kill its owner with a well placed burst.

The LAAG and snipers have now finished wiping out the left group and turn their attention to the rear.

Soon enough, the right group gets engulfed in a flow of napalm and the fight is over.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27: Cleaning House<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gah! Still can't decide with what to cross this :( If I go Warhammer people will hate my guts because I ain't wanking for the Imperium nd actual research has revealed the Halo verse to be more than a match to 40k, if I go Starwars, same thing, (An ark, no matter how badass, will never come close to the heavily augmented, hyper-trained war machines that are Spartans) Mass Effect is just too fuckin' linear for me to introduce anything in the universe without breaking some canon. (Not that it'd be so bad, but I don't like doing it :S)**

**Need ideas, anyone got one?**

**Marasco: I don't know why people don't care about Hellbringers, they're badass :O**

**Grimjowx: Thanks ^^ didn't mean to mindfuck anyone though o_O**

_When Leonidas was in charge of guarding the narrow mountain pass at Thermopylae with just 300 Spartans in order to delay the invading Persian army, Xerxes offered to spare his men if they gave up their arms._

_Leonidas replied "Molon labe" (Greek: Μολών λαβέ), which translates to_

_"Come and take them"._

**Astral, First Level.**

**December 17**

**2551**

**0908 hours**

"Who's hit! Everyone, sound off!" The Sarge hollers while striding up to my position.

I lift my thumb, since he's now next to me and wait for the thirty replies or so. Two lightly wounded, one KIA.

"Fuckers!" the asian man curses, "LT is down." He explains afterward.

"Who's the CO, now?"

"I am." He growls, "so, what's your take on the situation, Spartan boy?"

I sit in the snow, back to the still smoking truck, and draw a line. "That's the road we're on," I draw another line, cutting the first in a cross shape, "that's the intersection, " next, I draw eight small squares on both side of the road, "These are the houses, ahead at ten and two o'clock," Finally, I draw a circle at the extremity of the road, "this is the tunnel entrance."

"Nice, they give you art classes too?"

"Classified, so these are the three ambush points," I draw two more lines behind the houses, representing two more roads parallel to ours, "I suggest we send the main force along that road, pretend we're falling in the traps and draw their fire while two commando squads clear the houses from behind."

He nods at that, "What about the tunnel?"

"We advise once we're there." He looks at my drawing, then at the road up ahead, then sighs.

"Fuck, I'm taking advices from a boy young enough to be my son's kid… Alright; Delta, Cain, On me, I got a job for you assholes!"

Six men run up to us and the sarge explains the plan to them. Since Cain has two wounded, I'll be going with them to the left while Delta goes right.

"Everyone else, move these cars outta the way and get a move on!"

Cain and I get a move on with me taking point. The guys, Chase and Demetro, from their IFF, take position at both corners of the street while I maneuver in a crouch trough the wrecked cars.

"Movement, eleven o'clock." I call in my headset as a round shape pops over the hood of a car, twenty meters further. The sniper, Demetro, confirms he's got it. The crackle of the rifle makes my ears ring for a second.

The black shape is turned red in an instant. I survey the area trough my scope before giving the all clear. Chase advances, Battle rifle held ready. He jumps over the fused hoods of two cars and land behind the trunk of a third, five meters to my right.

"Ya coverin' me, sparty?" Keeping my rifle pointed down range, I lift a thumb and he gets moving again, going around the trunk and rolling under a pickup, apparently deciding it was the safest course of action.

Just as he get up, I spot a flash in a window, almost a hundred meters ahead and call it to Demetro.

"Sniper." He announces, "He spotted you, Chase, get down." The Marine rolls back under the truck with plenty of swearing.

"Ya got that arsehole, Dee?"

"No sweat, Cee, I got him."

The first shot misses, but Demetro quickly adjusts his aim and the second one repaints the walls with the sniper's brain.

"Fifty-one, you confirm that hit?" the sniper doesn't have my eyesight and even with his scope, the window is very dark.

"Confirmed, Corporal, you got him."

"Ou-rah."

Chase crawls out from under the truck and resume his advance, moving until he's five meters in front of me.

It's Demetro's turn. The sniper hurries forward, one eye on his scope and the other on the road, looking for any sort of movement.

We continue that way without encountering anything for a minute or so.

We reach the first house and jump over the backyard fences one by one, Chase going first.

"Stack up." I order once we are next to the back door.

It's at ground level, so just set up on either side of the door, the Marines on the left and me on the right, while Demetro fetches his SMG.

Chase offers me his suppress M6G, as he already has a silencer for his BR55, and I take it by the canon, letting my DMR hang on its straps before flipping the pistol in my palm until I'm holding the grip.

"Alright," I announce, hand on the doorknob, "Enter and clear, keep it quiet and keep it frosty."

"Roger that." They sound in perfect synchronism.

I go in first, since I got the best reflexes and analyze the situation in a blink.

Living room to the left, staircase to the right, door just before that staircase, leads to the kitchen.

A guy on the sofa is turning around. I drill a hole in the back of his brain before he does.

Someone comes down the staircase, but I can't get a good angle, so I shoot trough the wooden planks three times.

The Tango falls down the stairs. I motion for Demetro to secure the kitchen and motion Chase forward.

I catch a movement with the corner of my eye; Tango hiding in a corner of the living room.

I spin and squeeze two shots in the guy's chest before he even finished raising his own weapon.

Gunfire from the kitchen. SMG, shotgun, SMG. Demetro won.

Chase finishes off the ALAS that fell down the stairs and I climb said stairs. There's a door facing me, I can hear a faint throbbing sound from that door. Someone's pressing on it, someone panicked.

Two shots latter, the throbbing stops. The door explodes under my boot and a corpse falls down the stairs.

"Kitchen clear, zero target." The corporal reports.

"Check the bodies for gear." I reply before exchanging a nod with chase.

We enter the second floor simultaneously, splitting up immediately, as there's only a corridor ahead.

I enter the children's room, littered with toys.

Kids play war with toys, I did it with military grade dart guns. Who's had no childhood now, bitch?

I neutralize the sniper almost as an afterthought.

His rifle is an old bolt action model, but I still take it. Bob likes the feeling of these old rifle stocks, he'll be happy I brought that thing back.

"Room clear." Chase calls, not having fired a single shot.

"Proceed to the next house." I order, reloading.

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The human stepped out of cover to take the shot, but was outmatched.

The Kig-Yar burned a hole in the head of the Demon with a triumphant bark. That 'Spartan' had given him quite a bit of trou…

Bob calmly line up his shot and killed the fooled Jackal.

These Holoprojectors were the shit for baiting out snipers!

He lined up a grunt and ended its life along with these of half its team trough clever use of ricochet and methane gas flammability.

"Scratch six." He told Iona over the comm.

He was sitting on Astral's smallest airport control tower-Its roof, in fact-, scarring the shit out of the controllers at every shot. He could see the rest of the squad down bellow holding back ALAS forces to the north and Covenant remnants to the south.

Bob preferred killing Covies.

He spotted a Scorpion tank with ALAS colors and warned Trevor on a private channel.

Took exactly five second for the Spartan to commandeer it.

The turret spun around and rained heavy ordinance on the now retreating Insurrectionists.

Turning back to the southern fight, he emptied his clip so fast all six targets fell to the ground at the same time.

Overhead, a flight of Hornets screamed past in a tight Delta formation, their gunners firing missiles at the harder enemy troops bellow while their nose mounted guns forced softer infantry to cover.

Bob shot a Hunter pair before they could take out the Hornets. "Fuck, I'm good!"

"Don't get cocky, Spartan." Iona teased him.

"I'm not cocky, just expressing observed facts." The sniper noticed an orange glow to the east and aimed his rifle at it. Someone was using flamethrowers near level two entrance B.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28: Blow me Away<strong>

* * *

><p><em>'These are Sparta's walls.'<em>

_When asked why Sparta lacked fortifications, King Agesilaus' pointed to his men._

The fourth and last house is cleared in five seconds flat. They all had the same layout, so clearing them became as natural as breathing after only the second.

Chase, Demetro and I are now stacked up at the front entrance, which leads straight to the convoy.

"Friendlies, coming out!" I call before crossing the doorstep, hands raised at chest level.

On the other side of the street, Delta does the same thing. In the middle of said street, the whole platoon is waiting for us to proceed trough the tunnel entrance.

Where there use to be two bridges going over the street, there now is a lot of rubbles. Guess I forgot to mention that possible ambush point.

"So," The sarge walks up to me, "What do you think they got waiting for us down there?"

"Probably D-charges, some heavy weapons, most likely…" I explain. Chase walks by me and I give him his pistol back.

"I'll go first, sneak ahead and disarm any trap I see."

He nods and has one of the boys give me a silencer for my M392. The thing is light, but I like the slight switch forward in the gun's balance, makes it a bit more comfortable.

I'm trained for stealth over head on assault, so maybe I just like having a silenced gun in my hands.

The tunnel entrance is actually a large cube sticking from the ground with a round hole in one face and a three hundred meters ramp in its center leading down to the second level. Of course, that ramp is cut by airlock-like doors to keep the inner level protected from the cold. The actual ramp occupies only a fraction of the cube, the rest being filled with machinery and security booths.

Instead of going straight inside the tunnel, I spot a service entrance opposite to the main one.

It's just an hatch heading for the room that controls the main doors, but that's my best entry option right now.

I descend trough the cramped hole upside down, rifle hanging in my face. That's a trick Iona showed me.

Once I'm at the bottom, I bend to keep my upper body out of the tunnel bellow and wrap my feet around the ladder. Once I'm holding on tight, I descend my upper body and survey the room, one eye on my scope.

It looks like the two shocked innies are walking on the ceiling, confusing me for a split second, but I still drop both of them before they snap out of it.

Then, I release the ladder and flip in mid air to land on my feet.

The corridor I'm in is more of a dead end; one way goes deeper in the access tunnel's inner workings, the other is occupied by a solid wall and the ladder itself.

I go deeper, advancing in a silent crouch walk. The doors slide away, revealing a large control room with a good view point on the ramp bellow. A two men machinegun crew is manning an AIE-486H Heavy Machine Gun. Or about to man it anyway, as they're still waiting for a target.

I walk up behind the guy on the right and wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing until his skull detaches from his body.

The other one turns around, but I'm already raising my rifle.

If I shoot him, the bullet will over penetrate and shatter the window, so while descending his comrade's corps slowly with my feet; I smash my stock in his face and catch him by the shirt. Both men I delicately put down before continuing.

To the right is a door leading to the power generator.

I press my shoulder against it and hold my weapon straight while slowly pushing the door open.

This way, the guys in the room can't see who I am before I've gotten a good idea of the area.

Two round generators in the right corner of the room and the shadows of two men on these are all I care to see before I open the door all the way and fire two bullets in each man's chest.

There's a third one who was tying up his laces. I kill him too after my heart leapt into my throat.

There are no visible passages in this room, meaning I'll have to either break a window in the control room or go back outside to survey the rooftop.

As I walk up to one of the corpses, I feel a slight breeze on my face.

Bingo: Vents.

00000000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, L District.]-**

Iona fired her MA5C into the elite at point blank range and dropped its shields with seven rounds to spare. The alien swung a punch at the Spartan's visor, but she was faster and cracked its skull with her rifle grip.

"Reloading!" G117 called, "Cover me!"

She slumped back behind the pile of dead elites and grunts she used as sandbags and popped a fresh clip into her rifle. The ODSTs around her fired their own weapons to compensate for the loss of the Spartan's deadly accuracy.

A second later, Iona was back in action, shooting in short controlled bursts.

Even though ALAS had pulled out, the Covenants seemed to have realized what a precious occasion of killing lots of peoples they had been offered. They had started bringing vehicles into the fray too, something Iona was not very happy about.

As if on a cue, a plasma mortar round flew over her and smashed in the middle of the waiting refugees, incinerating a dozen and wounding even more.

She opened a private comm. with Chris and cursed herself, realizing her generalist was not really in a state to be planting bombs.

"Fal!"

"Sir?" Came the answer, slightly blurred by statics.

The street Iona held went on straight for a few hundred meters and, according to Abe, it was the only one like that, thus, the only mortar position that offered a straight shot at the evacuation area.

She spotted a four stories building linked to a five stories one by a sky bridge and highlighted it.

It was far behind Covenant lines, but far ahead of their artillery unit.

"Block their line of fire!" Fal, as a Spartan, was practically a genius; she didn't need more explanations.

"Yes, sir!"

G316's white HAYABUSA armor had long since turned purple and blue, from all the blood that had sprayed on it. Iona spotted the multicolored ninja, emerging from a wrecked store and highlighted her on her TACPAD. "Everyone!" She yelled, speakers turned to max, "Cover my target!"

Adding on to Fal's dual SMGs, Bob and every ODST manning the west flank began raining lead on anything that fired at the Spartan.

She still leapt in the door with alarms blaring in her ears and a pair of plasma scorches still glowing on her back.

Fal spun and fired her SMGs trough the door, dropping an Elite's shield and shredding a pair of grunts.

In single combat, she could take any Elite, any day. On the battlefield, however, the things were very dangerous, very smart, almost as much as a Spartan in some cases.

The Covenant warrior rolled behind cover and she immediately got a move on, placing satchel charges on the main support struts of the ground level.

The building was wrecked beyond recognition, but she spotted stairs, trough a tunnel of debris.

She sprinted through the tunnel and slid down the first flight of stairs. Above her, two Squids were spraying plasma in her general direction, none noticing the tiny metal device on the floor.

The frag went off, collapsing the tunnel and sealing Fal in the basement.

Fal didn't mind; it would give her time to set her charges right..

She installed more satchels there than on ground level, because her instinct for destruction told her so, and linked the whole thing to her helmet, to be detonated by voice command "Ka-Boom"

The basement was, in fact, a part of the building that extended down to level two, so she could possibly get out this way.

The basement was, in fact, a part of the building that extended down to level two, so she could possibly get out there, and then go back up by one of the ramps, but she had a better idea.

Fal forced the elevator doors open and fired her jetpack.

The elevator was stopped at level two, blocking her path, but she simply gunned the afterburners and activated the overshield.

The Spartan tore through the elevator like it was made out of paper, then did the same with the building's ceiling, overloading her primary and secondary power supplies to the point the armor had to open vents on her back and suck in enormous quantities of frozen air to prevent overheat.

G317, now standing on the rooftop overlooking the battle bellow, smiled.

"Hey! Split-faces! Come and get me!"

Her speakers were turned to the max and every elite within earshot turned to her. Some ignored the taunt, but many rushed the building in rage. She waited for a minute or so, until the first Squid erupted on the flat roof trough the staircase, on her right.

"Ka-Boom."

The charges went off and the building started inched forward slightly, but, somehow, the Skybridge managed to hold it in place.

Two Elites were now circling her. Her shield popped to life, but overshield, lockdown, gauntlets and everything that was linked to the secondary supply was still unusable.

"Fuck." Growled the Spartan, glancing down at the bridge as her mind performed multiple calculations that all ended with a single conclusion; She needed a solid impact to bend the support beams of the thing…

G316 turned to the Elites. She'd expected more, but they probably had been killed in the explosion.

"Say, how much you weight, boys?" The Elites were slightly confused by that question. "Don't answer, I'll find out on my own."

And with that, she drew her sword and leapt forward.

0000000000000000000000

A damaged AV-14 Hornet dropped its gunners next to Iona and took off again, its left engine spewing flames.

What the heck was that pilot doing?

In the distance she spotted another plasma blob flying toward the refugees.

The Hornets had managed to keep the Wraith busy for exactly two minute and now it was firing again.

"Fal!" She roared in the comm.

"On it!"

Even if she collapsed the building right that moment, the bomb would still reach the civilians, killing a dozen people, maybe more…

The Hornet screamed like a wounded animal to take some more altitude, getting right in the path of the plasma bomb.

"This is Lieutenant 'Chopper' Davenport to Covenant forces," A voice spoke on a broad channel, "_Fuck you_!" The AV-14 was hit by the mass of super-heated plasma and exploded in a thousand pieces, the explosion dissipating the bomb as well and creating a tiny sun over Iona's cover.

Almost at the same moment, a pair of Elites were thrown off the target building, both crashing into the sky bridge, denting it.

After some hesitation, it finally caused the whole structure totopple, blocking the enemy's line of fire.

"Nice job, three one seven." Iona congratulated, enjoying the short pause that followed, as dust and snow filled the air.

"At your service, sis."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29: Bored out of his DNA<strong>

* * *

><p><em>When being drawn attention to the solid city-walls with its exceptionally strong construction, Spartan King Agesilaus remarked:<em>

"_What splendid women's quarters."_

I dig my knife in the skull of the sniper, set up on a catwalk above the ramp, and pick up his rifle ammo. They are compatible with the one I looted earlier. Good.

"Alright, Sarge," I call on my comm. "I got you covered, advance."

The huge doors slowly part and I notice Chase and Demetro are on point.

Guess they earned some kind of field promotion.

I'm three hundred meters away, so that makes me pretty much at the same height as they are, despite my being ten meters above the ramp.

I keep just one eye to my scope, keeping my vision unfocused to spot any movement easily.

I pick up angry whispers behind me –so faint it could very well be me hearing voices- and slowly switch position. Two men are bickering about why the charges didn't go off, crouched in the shadows of the last security checkpoint , two hundred meters further.

I draw my DMR and install the dead sniper's scope instead of my ACOG.

One of them is facing me and the other is two steps to the right, back turned on me. I could kill both quickly enough to prevent them from sounding an alarm, but that would be underestimating the enemy. I'm sure an occasion will present itself, with some patience.

The one that was facing me kneels on the ground to check the detonator while the other stands next to him. He fidgets a bit, and that's all I needed.

The bullet pierces his heart and continues forward into the other tango's skull.

They both fall, dead.

Wait. The one I shot in the head tries getting up. I shoot him once in the chest and he doubles over before drawing his sidearm. I shoot again, hitting him in the wrist. He kneels and roars in pain, but get back up and charge forward, combat knife in his remaining hand.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The sentence escapes my lips just as the next bullet rushes out of the gun, hitting the man in the throat.

He roll on the floor and get back up, gurgling as he goes.

I shoot him in the chest, head, chest, leg, shoulder, feel, head and chest.

This time he's staying down.

I reload and go back to covering the patrol.

000000000000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, L District.]-**

Abby was sitting on the ground in a trench next to B312, the other Spartan firing her MA37.

The lone wolf dropped back behind cover to see Abe typing away at her PDA.

"What are you doing?"

G225 smiled. "Pinpointing the location of all targets in the area."

The other looked intrigued. Well, as much as an armored Spartan could, anyway. "You can do that? How?"

"Hacking into satellite relay, using the Superintendant's access to circulation cameras and camera drones."

"Nice."

"Yup… Here you go." She uploaded the data to everyone military unit in the area. To ODSTs and Spartans, every Covenant in the area was now surrounded with a red halo, whether they were behind cover or not. The position of every sniper and command unit was marked in a more angry red.

Abejundio then picked up her new plasma rifle and opened fire. The Beta and her worked in tandem; she dropped the shields and B312 finished the owners off.

Trevor's Scorpion described circles around the evac area, a full squad of ODSTs riding on its treads.

He passed behind Abe's trench and two Helljumpers dropped off the tank to rush next to the Spartans.

"Hey," One of them asked, "which one is Staff Sergeant G225?"

Abby stepped forward.

"You confirmed ONI Operator G051 'MIA', right?"

She nodded, holding back the urge to punch the man.

"Are you convinced he's dead?"

"Is there a problem, trooper?" She was growing tired of this bullshit.

"There's a guy with Echo patrol claiming to be him. You really sure your guy's dead?"

Abby thought about it for a long moment.

0000000000000000000000

"You can't be serious!" I laugh as one of the Corpsmen takes a blood sample from my arm.

I turn to Cain team, "C'mon, guys! I'm not ALAS!" Both men looked at each other then turned to the Sarge.

"He's kinda right, sir, it's hard to impersonate a Spartan and the shit he's done was definitely Spartan stuff." Chase pleads, turning to Vicky, he continues, "You did ID him as Chris, right?"

The Hellbringer nods, "No mistake, that's the man. He looked like a corpse when we met and I can see why they thought he was, but I don't see a normal human walking away from the kind of injuries he had."

The Corpsman runs my blood trough some tests while the Sarge ponders about his options.

The Corpsman settles it. "Negative, but he's close, brother kind of close. There seems to be some problems with his DNA, though… His tests indicate a mild form of Boren syndrome, might be that."

"In English, Scott."

"I don't know, sir."

The Sergeant groans, "Fucking hell… Call Orca, tell them that next time they have a man down, they should check for a motherfucking pulse!"

I sigh, "Thanks Sarge."

"Don't thank me, son, I ain't dumb, I realize without you we'd be up shit creek by now."

Franklins turns to me. "They ask what Bob's favorite color is!"

"Ablative plating?" I answer with a shrug. Never seen him wear anything but adaptable camo ever since we were issued our SPI armors.

"They say it doesn't count…"

I laugh, "Tell Bob I said to shut up, I got an Arctic Wolf for him, if he's nice."

The ODST relays the message then nod. "ID established, I guess."

Some Marines laugh at that, the others are looking at the two kilometers run to the third level entrance.

Twenty possible ambush points. Mostly that blown up building, almost directly under the warehouses district…

In that same district, I notice about six large columns in a circle.

I tap the Sarge's shoulder.

"What's this, sir?"

"Elevators to the Starport."

"That's the secondary Evac zone?"

He frowns and nod.

When we come back, we can use those; less ground to cover, less ambush points.

I return to surveying the road ahead.

Not that much abandoned cars and the smoke reduces visibility enough for me to wonder why the hell they bothered setting up all these sniper nests here.

I spotted five jackals and seven ALAS just on our path. I point them out to the Platoon snipers and they take cover. I, however, take firing positions with a random Marine acting as my spotter.

He introduces himself. Private James Sheppard.

"Chris." Is the only answer I give. Once my nest is set, under the Warthog, he peeks down his binoculars and begin calling out targets.

"Alright, first target, four hundred meters, Ten o'clock, third floor."

I adjust my sight and a Jackal appears in my reticle. It's not even in front of the window, but beside it, although my position gives me a perfect firing angle.

"Got it."

"Fire."

I adjust my grip on the outdated rifle and take a deep breathe.

*Blam!*

"Hit. Target down." Sheppard reports before continuing. "New target. Two o'clock, second floor."

I aim at the coordinates but only see a concrete wall and two dark windows "I don't have him." I announce.

"Pivot eight degrees right, rightmost window. He's ducked back behind cover."

"Shoot trough it?" I offer.

"Fuck, man, if you're up for it… correct twenty degrees up and five degrees left."

He doesn't have to say it, I know how to make a bullet penetrate. Fuck, I don't even need any calculation for it, it's like tying my laces!

"Got it."

"Fire."

I inhale then release slowly.

The bullet goes through the building's corner and into the sniper's brain. I think, anyway.

"I don't have confirmation." He groans. I dismiss the matter.

"Never mind, next target."

"Yes sir. New target, ten-thirty o'clock, ground level, between those dumbsters."

"Got it."

"Fire."

*Blam!*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30: Death is in the Air<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 2, L District.]-**

_After a small boy pulls a mouse out of it's hole, the animal turns around and bites him on the hand. Having witnessed the scene, Spartan King Agesilaus said:_

_'When the tiniest creature defends itself like this against a giant aggressor, what ought we to do?'_

"Felicia O'Connor! Damn that girl was sexy, remember that movie where she played an ODST and covered herself in mud? Damn!"

Demetro and Chase are having a 'Who's the sexiest girl in the universe discussion' muttering names and movies that I rarely ever know. The Sarge's pretending not to hear them, since it actually increases the mood to hear some chatter and we're not exactly relying on stealth here.

"Yeah, but she had to build quite some muscle for that movie, six packs don't look that good on chicks."

I peek down my scope while talking; "I find strong women more attractive than those with a small frame and large breast."

They debate over it for a minute but decide that's bullshit; "It's all about the tits." They say.

Whatever. I look at the rest of the platoon, making sure we still number thirty-two members.

We do. I turn to the Hellbringer at the rear and she looks away.

Vicky is staying away from me ever since the incident about me not being me. I don't know if you can feel hurt when someone you don't remember avoids you, but I do, for some reason.

What's her problem? Is it because I got Boren syndrome? I always knew hearing voices was not a healthy thing, but figured it was just PTSD…

The nurse at camp Curahee must have known and treated it… Or I don't have Boren syndrome and it's actually just a consequence of my augmentation, I mean, last DNA sample that got entered in my file was from the selection.

This is all pointless, I had Boren syndrome a week ago and she didn't mind, what's changed?

"Contact, nine o'clock!" I announce as we pass a dark alley.

The thing is filled with weird moving shapes, so dark I can't see many details in the ambient smoke.

"Hellbringer," The Sarge calls, "Sterilize!"

Vicky moves forward, opening her gas tanks to the max and…

A tentacles shoot out of the alley, impaling her trough the chest before dragging her in the dark so fast even I don't have time to react.

Then, a second latter, I hear screams, choked and gurgling.

It only stops after my frag has gone off.

"Cain! On me!" I bark, entering the alley and sweeping it with my rifle.

I see very well in the dark, but the colors are still faded because of all that smoke and all I can see are shapes that look like nothing I can relate to.

Chase turns on his flashlight and color returns to the alley.

Blood everywhere, bits of flesh reminiscent of those parasites are all over the place as well.

How can they have grown so big? Did they infect a Hunter or something?

There's a pair of dumpsters to my right with a dead ALAS sniper between them. Or at least there should be, since I killed the guy earlier.

The corpse is not there, of course.

"Search the alley!" the Sarge order us on the radio, "I need to know just what the hell happened!" Demetro climbs on a dumpster and aims down his thermal scope while Chase and I move forward, side by side, guns pressed to our shoulders.

The alley splits in two after five meters. I motion for Chase to go right while I turn le…

One step forward and we both fall through a hole in the floor leading straight to level three. A ten meters fall.

I catch the edge of the trap just in time, but Chase doesn't, so I need to hold us both with a single hand, the other holding the Marine by his backpack.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" is the only thanks I get.

On the paper, I can lift three times my own weight and weight twice more than a normal man, making me three times the strength of an average human, but that's on the paper and a generalization for all Spartans based on the II's recorded performances after augmentation. It's bullshit, too, since according to my own calculations, I am a little under five times the strength of an average human. Why?

Because I manage to throwa fully geared Marine trough the hole and pull myself after him without straining myself too much, although the angle and sudden contraction are going to make me bitch in pain for a week, that's sure.

I watch Chase crash on the floor and spin on the spot to aim my rifle down the hole.

There is nothing, just the street bellow and a bloodied corpse in Hellbringer armor.

Whatever did this, it's not leaving this planet alive.

A growl escapes my lips as I jump down the hole. Ten meters fall; could cause some internal damage if I don't land right.

00000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, L District.]-**

B312 caught the clip Abe tossed her and shoved it in her rifle before arming the gun and unleashing a first controlled burst.

"You think that guy really is your friend?" She asked, between two volleys.

"I hope not."

That answer shocked the Spartan. "Why?"

Abby ducked under an overcharged shot and killed the grunt that fired it.

"Because if it's him, I saw a parasite in his chest, so he's a bio-hazard…"

312 primed a plasma grenade and lobbed it above a Jackal phalanx. A hail of blue fire rained on her position, one shot illuminating the ablative plating of her chest plate.

"So? Maybe you were wrong, you did say he was dead, right? If you made a mistake about that, maybe you did about the rest…"

"Maybe..."

An Elite uncloaked behind Abby, energy sword in hand, and swung straight at her midsection.

The Beta Spartan attempted to shoot it, but Abe was in her line of fire. 312 went to warn her, but it was over before she could even open her mouth.

Somehow sensing the attack, the Spartan dodged at the last second, spun and dug her plasma dagger in the Covenant's head.

"How did you…"

"Just a feeling." Abby, with her IQ of 210, was not the kind of person who actually relied on guts feelings, preferring logic and facts analysis, yet she had to admit, she had quite some flair for trouble and she would have been an idiot not to trust that flair.

Above her, Bob was listening on the comm. He lined up Abby's head in his crosshair and wondered if she'd feel it coming, would he press the trigger right then.

Probably, but G123 never missed, so that would most probably not make much of a difference.

His high caliber bullets could easily collapse the MJOLNIR's shields and pierce the helmet. Abe would be dead before anyone but the Beta knew Chris was infected and he would have repaid his debt to Chris. He would have watched his brother's ass. He'd do things right this time.


	7. Mama Lopez

**Chapter 31: Burial or Cremation?**

* * *

><p><em>"A man awakes having no memories of who he is or anything prior to that moment. A genie is by his side.<em>

_ The Genie announces that his second wish has been granted and that he has one left._

_The man asks the genie to tell him who he is, to which the other responds;_

"_Why, you are my master!"_

_The man makes the wish to find out who he really is and the genie smiles._

"_But, master, that was your first wish!"_

_-Chris-G051's answer to a PTSD detection test. The exact question is unknown._

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 3, L District.]-**

I land with a roll and black out from the impact, although I get the audio back after a second and video just after. It takes a minute for everything to resume working like it should, but by then, I'm walking running north, observing the trail of destruction the creature left behind it.

Houses have collapsed. Under the assaults of the creature, ripped plumbing is gushing water from the level's floor as well as ceiling, creating a trail of mist behind the monster. I can hear the thing move in the distance, a squishy sound accompanied by a constant throbbing, like a pulse or a drum…

The smell alone would be enough for me to track my target; smells like that rotten squirrel we used to repel guard dogs on our fourth week at training.

The first time I'd smelled the thing, I threw up my breakfast all over the grass. Right now, it's that same smell, only ten times bigger.

I don't throw up though, I'm tougher than I used to be.

Vicky's napalm tank is still open to the max. I close it and remove the defoliant kit from her twisted and broken body.

"I'll need it." I apologize.

The voice in my head would have said something at this point, but it's incredibly quiet ever since I woke up down at the seventh level.

A pair of ropes appears behind me and Cain team descends down them.

We look at each other for a second and I pull the rifle from my back.

"This way, keep it tactical." I order before moving along the path of destruction.

After a few seconds, I realize where the smell's actually coming from;

The thing is leaking bodily fluids. The water dilutes it, but here and there I can find splotches of green goo. No need to see them, the smell is way stronger around these.

Chase actually throws up at a particularly big pile of goo, enticing a concerned exclamation from Demetro.

"You okay, Cee?"

"What the fuck is that thing, Sarge?" the Marine Rifleman chokes between two hiccups.

That's a good question and I wish I had an answer for him…

"Local fauna?" I offer with a shrug.

Chase spits a few times and gets back on his feet. The guy shakes himself and we move again, making our way through the ruins in delta formation. I'm on point, flamethrower ready to smoke anything that so much as looks at me funny.

"This is third armored division," someone yells in my headset, "we're under attack by... By some kind of giant flower! We need backup immediately!"

I click the comm. open; "This is G051, I believe you have a piece of equipment that belongs to me, have it prepped and avoid the target. I'll deal with it."

"Whatever you say, just hurry!"

I turn to Cain, to make sure they're ready for a fight. They are pale but their faces are set in stone; Marines. They're always ready.

People have been very hard on the Corps during the war when the truth is, they are, in many ways, better than Spartan.

I go in battle with senses, speed and strength three times as developed as theirs and a training way more advanced than theirs, yet they follow me and obtain results despite the odds.

I've seen Marines take on Elites by themselves and win… I don't remember when, but I'm pretty sure I did… Point is, an Elite can be from five to fifteen times the strength of a regular human and are just as well trained as Spartans, in some cases. That's something we learned about Elites, the gap in physical strength between fit and unfit individuals is enormous, going from barely higher than that of the strongest man to slightly lower than the strongest Spartan, in some cases.

Of course, despite what many think, mankind is by no mean inferior to Elites, we just evolved differently is all; They have heightened senses of smell but terrible eyesight, good reflexes but very little flexibility. A normal human, if he were to get in grappling range to an Elite, would actually stand a fighting chance, given the right tools and circumstances, which is why Spartans often win close combat engagements, like I did the other day.

Most importantly, though; Elites can't think outside the box, no problem solving skills, because they're the apex predators of their world, have been from day one, whereas we had to be creative to survive. An unimaginative Elite could survive by merely being stronger than its attacker, an unimaginative human would have been eaten before he could reproduce.

Natural selection just went different ways.

"Multiple contacts!" Demetro hollers, firing his rifle twice.

Cursing myself for drifting away like that, I bring the flamer to bear and _fire_ on a deformed, man-sized shape in the smoke, to my right.

Another one jumps trough the water trail and I torch it in mid-air.

Mutants, like the ones that attacked me when I woke up... There's more coming from all directions.

"Aim for the center of mass!" I bark, "go for the flowers!"

They don't understand what the flowers are supposed to be, but still shoot the center of mass.

"I'm just pissing them off!" Demetro announces before switching to his SMG.

Then, just as it started, the attack stops and we form a back to back formation, guns held ready.

"Who,s got a target!" I bark.

"Zero movement here, sir." The Corporal whispers.

Chase mirrors his comment. Fuck. I prefer being surrounded than knowing the enemy's out there and not seeing it.

"Advance. Chase, you watch the rear, Demetro, you check our flanks, I got point."

We then resume our advance in a tight formation with the sounds of third armored getting butchered filling our ear.

0000000000000000000

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Omega Astralis]-**

**-[Astral City]-**

**-[Level 1, L District.]-**

"Five minutes before detonation!" Iona announced on the team's channel, "we need to fall back!"

Abby shot a grunt in the face and activated her bubbleshield emitter in time to avoid being glassed by a fuel rod. In the distance, Bob shot the grunt with the canon to prevent it from shooting Orca Five as soon as the shield went down. He could have left it kill her and solve all his problems, but the Sniper was not prepared to lose his sister for sake of simplicity.

"What about Chris!" She called, still crouched inside the shiny protective barrier.

"Echo says he's missing. Third HQ had a brief contact with him, but they're all dead now…" Iona began to explain, but Bob cut her off.

"We are _not_ leaving him!"

He rappelled down the control tower and landed in a crouch, Battle Rifle spitting three round bursts into the advancing Covenant units.

The western flank had fallen.

"This is not out call, two, now get on those dropships!" Normally, Iona's commanding voice would have gotten him moving without question, now, however…

"Like hell it's not, cabrone!" Abby spat and suddenly, the timer on everyone's visor froze at 4:31. Abejundio had hacked into the nuke's system.

"Abe!" Fal boomed, "Don't be stupid! We know our job, we can't risk…"

Trevor's calm voice cut into the argument like a blade, his mixed Russian and Irish accents making him sound like some Soviet General, "We all know our role and are all ready to sacrifice ourselves for Earth. Not to cover up ONI's fuckups. I say we wait some more and if things go bad enough, we nuke the place."

"You don't understand," Iona groaned, "These are the last ships leaving this planet, Cole Protocol has been enacted, the _Amber_ won't wait for us."

There was a long silence on the link, everyone thinking and fighting. They all knew the painful truth; _they had to leave._

"This is Orca Four to Orca Team. I'm on my way with a parasite the size of a Scarab on my tail, take off, _now_!"

The whole team was surprised to hear Chris hail them over Squad comm. and it took most of them a few second to understand it meant he was now wearing his MJOLNIR armor, somehow. Interestingly, it carried no shock, as though all of them had been expecting this from the start.

"Copy that, Four! Everyone, jetpacks on! Get in those Dropships!"

The remaining Albatross were already high in the sky and the only way for the Spartans to reach them was their jetpacks.

None did, they all stood their ground and kept fighting, Iona bashed a Jackal's skull with a rock before looking around for Chris, Fal by her side, swinging her sword so fast the multiple grunts surrounding her never knew what it was that made their limbs fall apart like that.

Trevor stayed in his tank, firing XM1850 Beehive shells into the Covenant ranks and turning them into ground meat.

The Beehive shell use the same principle as shotguns; firing thousands of tiny tungsten-diamond alloy balls at speeds so great a single of these centimeter large balls could collapse an Elite's shield. To Orca Three, it was the funniest weapon in the UNSC arsenal.

Abby was sitting on the tank's left tread, firing a Fuel rod cannon at anything that survived the tank's main gun.

Bob… well, no one could tell where the sniper was hiding or what he was doing, but every now and then, a Covenant soldier would drop dead or lose its head in a shower of gore… Then drop dead.

B312, however, had gotten off the planet long before, when Smith had showed up, demanding an escort to the _In Amber Clad_. That was just fine by most of the squad; this was family business.

Chris emerged from the elevator shaft next to the control tower, wearing his blue/grey sharp angled Commando armor, along with two Marines. They ran out like the devil was on their tail and everyone understood why soon enough…

The Space port was circular in shape, with the central landing pad surrounded by six cargo elevators, a control tower in the northern area and a refueling station to the south, both separated by the two hundred meters wide landing area. Around it stood the city proper, creating a sink of sort. The pad itself was even bent inward slightly, from all those ships that had landed on it over the years and the constant pressure of the snow.

It was quite a pain when the snow melted, as the thing would be turned into a small lake.

The creature hunting Chris and Cain was so large it could not fit in one of the elevator. Instead, it tore right through the pad proper, straight in the center.

It looked like… A flower. Rotten, tentacled and voracious, twenty meters tall, fifty meters wide flower crawling around on its roots.

Trevor, his tank barely twenty meters away from where the thing had busted trough, lined up his canon to unleash a first volley of pellets.

It would be the last, as the tank was then crushed under one of the roots.

Abby, having jumped off the tread just in time and now firing her canon like it was an SMG, manage to keep the other tentacles at bay long enough for Trev to punch his way out of the Scorpion.

The thing seemed to flatten on the ground while its roots spread wider to cover the whole landing are and engage all of the Spartans.

An arm sized tentacle wrapped itself around one of the Marines' face and Chris sliced it with his energy dagger.

Chase tore the thing off and opened fire on the tendrils that were already shooting toward him.

The things were hacked and torn by the hail of steel, eroding and falling off a centimeter before they could impale the Marine's face.

Demetro, Vicky's flamethrower in hands, faced much less troubles, thanks to the impenetrable wall of fire in front of him.

A few tentacles attempted to sneak behind the sniper, but were hacked to pieces by Fal.

Still camouflaged near the refueling station, Bob watched Orca and Cain from a circle to hold back the parasite's roots as the Covenant forces ran for dear life.

He fired a few rounds into the _'head'_ of the flower, to no avail.

Fire seemed effective, however and it took his augmented brain barely one second to do all the calculations.

He then opened all kerosene pumps and waited for gravity to do its work as the flow of fuel slowly mixed with the snow, melting it and dripping ever closer to the landing pad's center.

Bob then headed toward the building Fal had collapsed earlier, knowing there was a plasma mortar behind it, just waiting for a skilled mathematician to rain death on the pad once again.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 32: Burn and Die<strong>

* * *

><p>Orca two sprinted trough the collapsed building's window, landing in what used to be the third floor. The thing had been blasted to mush, in such a way that the whole floor was missing, but that didn't matter to Bob, given the fact the whole structure was leaning to the right.<p>

His only real concern was that it was a pretty steep slope and led straight down a level or two, the explosion having travelled downward.

The Spartan had no problem making his way past the scorched wrecks and out the opposite widow.

He erupted in the street and quickly surveyed it; four Elites, seventeen grunts, two hunters, one Wraith.

Not breaking his pace, Bob fired a burst into a grunt's skull and fell to his knees to slide under an Elite.

The Covenant spun, plasma repeater in hand, but found no target.

A second latter, G123 uncloaked and slashed the alien's throat open before spinning toward the two Elites guarding the Wraith.

The BR55 burped a nine shot volley into the left one's head, overloading its shields and killing it in an instant.

Bob disappeared in a cloud of holographic smoke a split second before everyone opened fire in his direction, having managed to surround him.

Some plasma shots disappeared trough the smoke and others emerged from it, impacting grunts and Elites alike. To the Unggoy, this was sign the enemy was fighting back and they began firing overcharged shots that flew right across to go hit their comrades on the other side.

All semblance of discipline was lost and despite the Sangheili's desperate attempts to regain control, the grunts were all dead in a minute, bringing one of the Elites with them.

The surviving alien was rammed by the Wraith.

00000000000000000000

I dive under a tentacle and unload my clip in the flower's head.

"Fall you bastard!"

"Maybe if you ask nicely…" Abby offered, before turning to the thing, "Could you please die? Pretty please?"

It swings at her and she roasts the tentacle, "Chingo, don't get your knickers in a bunch!"

I slice another tendril with my wrist mounted plasma blade.

There was time to read a bit before third armor was wiped out and, turns out, that MJOLNIR armor I'm wearing is actually a MkVII prototype… Well, more like a MkVI outfitted with MkVII prototype tech. ONI is generous, but not that much; the funds came from elsewhere, from someone who needed us well equipped… Or wanted this tech tested.

"This is Two," Bob's voice calls over the radio, "got myself a ten miles flamethrower, get clear." His voice is not cheery, not even smartass-ish; he sounds calm, cold even.

Iona makes the call and we all move away from the monster. "How long 'till we get an EVAC?" Chase asks me.

"With that thing alive? A long fucking time!" I snap back. My jetpacks fire in time to carry me over a sweeping limb, but I have yet to get the hang of it and land on my back. Another tentacle comes down on me, intent on crushing my face.

I fire my jetpack and sparkle across the pad, stopping only when Trevor catches my chest plate.

"Thanks, br…_Duck_!"

He throws a device to the ground and we are surrounded by a bigger version on my suit's bubbleshield.

Then the whole world erupts in flames, engulfing our bubble in a red blaze. The shield wavers, but holds.

"G117 here, nuclear detonation in four minutes, exfil is NAV-marked. You have two minutes as soon as the bubbles are down."

"Copy that!" We all answer in perfect synchronism.

The light fades and is replaced by thick smoke… Then the shield dies and we break into a sprint for the marker, cutting the pitch black fog and leaving a forked whirlwind behind us.

"Shit! This is Five, I'm hit!" Her position is highlighted on my HUD by Iona. It's quite a fucking detour; she hid in the control tower, all the way next to the fueling station.

I break off course without a word and use my Jets to go even faster.

The HUD says I'm up to a hundred and ten klicks per hour.

Each step feels more like a leap and it's hard to keep balance, but I make it, coming to a crashing stop next to Abby, who's got her back against the tower's wall.

"Watch it, Chris, sniper!" She warns. I just swoop her up potato-sack fashioned and speed the opposite way.

One minute ten seconds.

Something screams overhead, a Pelican, and I run faster.

Past the smoke, I see the whole squad, their tags and outlines highlighted on my HUD.

Bob's the only other not at the marker yet, but we reach the LZ at the same time.

"How is she?" he inquires, worried.

I look up her vitals.

"She injected herself with enough morphine to knock Trevor out, but should be fine, the bulled just kneecapped her." Bullet… I mean, beam. A precise beam rifle puncture just over the knee, in the meaty part of the leg, the non-fatal part…

The Pelican touches down and the whole team moves in, followed by Cain team.

I drop Abe in a seat and strap her before checking her wound. Beam rifle.

"What about Echo?" Demetro yells over the engines' roar, "What about everyone?"

Iona answers just as we take off, "Nothing we can do, we need to destroy this weapon BOW before it gets out of hand!"

I take my usual seat on the edge of the ramp and watch the landscape bellow speed by, switching from urban to plains of snow to tundra in the blink of an eye…

Out the corner of my eye, I see Trevor do the sign for private comms. to Bob. Wonder what they're talking about, but I can tell Trev's furious by his crisp and tense posture, contrasting with the usual cool and relaxed attitude.

I don't know what it's about, but they both stare at me for a few seconds and then Trevor nods slowly. Bob did something for me, something that pissed Trevor off.

A minute or so later, Astral goes off in a flood of white light so intense, my visor turns black. This is quickly followed by wind strong enough to push me back up the ramp slightly and force everyone to grab onto something.

The EMP is bad enough to send us in free fall for about two seconds, but the engines soon restart and we're off in the sunset with a nuclear sunrise in our ass.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 33: Tin Foil Hat Time<strong>

* * *

><p><em>All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.<br>- Sun Tzu, the Art of War_

**-[May 2551]-**

**-[Slip Space]-**

**-[UNSC ****_In Amber Clad_****]-**

**-[Recreation Deck]-**

The _Amber_ doesn't have a bar per see, but it does have a 'Recreation deck' that Commander Keyes keeps well supplied. It's not very large, eight tables, set up around a central dance floor very rarely used, since there's very rarely something to party about. The place is mainly used to drink yourself until you need one of the MPs to drag you back to your quarters.

Right now, I'm sitting at a table with the rest of Orca and Cain sitting around, wondering just what's going to happen next.

The brass have ordered a debrief in ten minutes and I must admit, I feel a little nervous.

Abby decided to auto-medicate herself and, quite frankly, I think she's doing fine… The reconstructive automated surgery performed on her knee by the ship's AI probably helped, though.

She's in the infirmary right now, still in her MJOLNIR armor, like the rest of Orca, except she had the knee part replaced.

We all decided to keep the armors on at all time and keep the hygiene routines as short as possible, given that I was forced to go into combat under-equipped on my first mission. They saw what can happen if we're caught off guard: Never again.

Trevor modified my armor a bit while I was writing my report, replacing the cumbersome Commando shoulder pads with replicas of those used on ODST armors. Other than that and the gizmos, my suit is a standard MJOLNIR with black titanium under layer and dark grey upper layer…

Oh, and the helmet is different as well; the visor is smaller ant the chin sharper, with an additional sensor pack on the tip to help me detect more kinds of visual emissions, like ultraviolet and infrareds, adding the feed to my HUD and, indirectly, my own augmented sight.

Now I quite simply can see in the dark, detect heat and pinpoint the slightest movement…

"You listening to me, Chris?" Iona snaps, angrily.

"Nope." I admit, turning back to her.

Her helmet is surrounded by a thin stream of red -heat emissions- but it's nothing compared to unarmoured peoples in the bar; their trails are practically blurring my sight like a Van Gogh painting in motion.

"This is serious, Abby just sent me a data package about the peoples you'll meet and it looks pretty close to a disciplinary commission…"

Fal rams her fist on the table, breaking the stainless steel like it was a wooden board. "This is bullshit! This whole op was FUBAR! What did they expect?"

Trevor leans back in his seat, yellow optics gleaming in the darkness. "They are pissed he's still alive, makes explaining his presence and identity even harder."

Chase speaks next. He and Demetro are still clad in their BDUs, expecting trouble, apparently, or just feeling small next to us.

"We're on your side, Sparty, whatever happens, even if we have to commandeer this ship…" Demetro nods at that, "We're Marines, _Semper Fi_ isn't just fancy talk, it's how we live."

"I like you, guys." Fal admits, grinning under her helmet.

Then, I get called in the communication room and everyone wishes me luck.

I don't want luck, I want a very deep hole to hide in and die.

* * *

><p><strong>-[May 2551]-<strong>

**-[Slip Space]-**

**-[UNSC ****_In Amber Clad_****]-**

**-[Comm. Room]-**

"Spartan, I understand you have done your best, but you were tasked with retrieving an ONI Specialist during your week long operation on Astral, instead, you return without the Specialist, without the shield prototypes and without the Prowler we had dispatched to bring you there… Tell us, son, why we should not have you court marshaled and executed right here and then?"

Well, that didn't take long.

They're all sitting in the dark, or using some visual and voice filters to keep me from recognizing them.

They did not take such precautions at our first meeting, so I guess they're scared of me now and don't want me to know who the reprimanding comes from, except Abby pulled all their files and I had time to have a quick read of all of them; there are six persons talking to me from video screens; first up is Colonel James Ackerson, who seems to be somewhat on my side, judging from the fact he didn't try to nail me to the wall yet.

The one who just spoke is some ONI woman, Parangosky or something, the next one is that Terry guy, Lord Admiral Hood, and he tends to disagree with Parangosky.

"Now, no rash decisions…" He turns to me. Hood is the only one without optical filters, "You did one heck of a job down there, son, whatever this trial decides, I, for one, command your dedication and selfless service. I do have to ask, however, why most wounds you spoke of in your report have healed already."

No suspicion in his voice, he saw me before the mission and saw the physical examination results from the test I passed after my arrival on the _Amber._

I'm about to explain what happened with the parasite, when Ackerson gives another explanation;

"Chris is a unique member of Gamma Company and the augmentation process is known to accelerate tissue regeneration. Most tests clearly indicate the procedure could have greatly increased his natural healing abilities…"

There are many reasons why I shut the hell up after that, but the main one is that I got a feeling telling them I was infected by a Biological Weapon parasite thing would get that room filled with nerve gas in an instant…

"Well, Colonel, what is your take on this mission?" The section two director asks. His name isn't classified, I just forgot it…

Ackerson's answer is sharp and dripping with venom at the other man's use of his title.

"Well, _Admiral_, you must understand the circumstances were against G051's very survival from the start, the fact he managed to single handedly ravage the enemy fleet is something no Spartan, from Halsey's group or otherwise, could ever hope to achieve, and it allowed the deployment of another task force who was equally as powerless as our operator to fulfill their mission."

There is an awkward silence after that and I guess that's the moment I realize it wasn't my fault at all. I actually handled myself very _fucking_ well, given the circumstances…

"You have made a good point," Parangosky agrees after a few seconds, "G051, is there anything you wish to add?"

You bet your fucking socks, bitch.

"Yes, there is, Vice Admiral." I announce, purposefully using her rank, despite not being supposed to know it, "If you could jump to page ten of my report…"

There is a whole minute of silence, then some Marine General groans.

"Why did we get the redacted version again? I thought we had clearance to view everything in this conference!"

"You do," Parangosky snaps, "I was issued a redacted version as well…"

This is bad…

"What did you want to show us, Spartan?" Ackerson asks, apparently getting impatient.

Well, whoever redacted this page clearly didn't expect the admiralty to debrief me in…

Every screen in the room flickers and static fills the place.

"Wha… the… ning… is?" The Vice Admiral sounds furious, whatever she's saying.

Ackerson answers in an equally angered tone and every screen in the room goes black, with a No Signal warning flashing in each.

That doesn't look good…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 34: Semper Fidelis<strong>

* * *

><p><em>UNSC Air Force messages to maintenance and answers from maintenance crews:<em>

_Problem: "Left inside main tire almost needs replacement."_

_Solution: "Almost replaced left inside main tire."_

_Problem: "Test flight OK, except autoland very rough."_

_Solution: "Autoland not installed on this aircraft."_

_Problem #1: "#2 Propeller seeping prop fluid."_

_Solution #1:"#2 Propeller seepage normal."_

_Problem #2: "#1, #3, and #4 propellers lack normal seepage."_

_Problem: "The autopilot doesn't t."_

_Signed off :"IT DOES NOW."_

_Problem: "Something loose in cockpit."_

_Solution: "Something tightened in cockpit."_

_Problem: "Evidence of hydraulic leak on right main landing gear."_

_Solution: "Evidence removed..."_

_Problem: "DME volume unbelievably loud."_

_Solution: "Volume set to more believable level."_

_Problem: "Dead bugs on windshield."_

_Solution: "Live bugs on order."_

_Problem: "Autopilot in altitude hold mode produces a 200 fpm descent."_

_Solution: "Cannot reproduce problem on ground."_

_Problem: "IFF inoperative."_

_Solution: "IFF inoperative in OFF mode."_

_Problem: "Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick."_

_Solution: "Tha's what they're there for."_

_Problem: "Number three engine missing."_

_Solution: "Engine found on right wing after brief search."_

* * *

><p>The door behind me opens and Commander Keyes walks in, flanked by four Marines. I fought Elites that didn't look as dangerous as that woman…<p>

Her eyes are darkened by the lack of sleep, but wide awake, her frail body is trembling in anger and exhaustion, yet she raises the oversized M6D like it weights nothing, pressing it against the back of my helmet and making my shield shimmer lightly.

I see the whole scene in my helmet's rear-view camera. That's unexpected.

"Find the source of the signal and shut it down, NOW!" The commander barks while removing my weapons from the magnetic clamps. The Marines proceed to tear the room apart. "Where is it!" She hisses, now pointing my own DMR at my skull.

I still haven't moved, but if I wanted, I could kill everyone in the room and get away without anybody ever finding out, Keyes' got to know it, so she's either in a hurry or very, very tired.

"I do not know what you mean." I speak, softly. I try to turn around, but Keyes fire just past my audio receptors.

Whatever reaction it was she expected from a Spartan, she's disappointed; I spin on the spot and retrieve my weapon. She tries to aim her pistol at me again, but I catch her wrist before she can aim higher that the crotch.

My DMR returns in its place, on my back and I let go of the Commander's wrist. It's bruised.

"Sorry, Ma'am, reflex." I apologize, earning a piercing glare, yet I guess that proved I'm still on her side, somehow, since she keeps her gun aimed at the floor afterward and even tells me what's going on!

"Something aboard the _Amber_ is transmitting straight on the Covenant battlenet, we need to find and shut it down."

"Got it." I bring up Abby's frequency and wait for her to open her end of the comm. link.

Her sluggish voice answers me in a slurred tone. "Yaaaah… Que passa, Chris?"

Shit, she's high as a kite. "Nevermind." I close the link and go through all I know about frequency tracking… Triangulation? Would work on a flat area, in a ship, I need peoples at every corners.

"Nothing, ma'am!" The Marines report, causing a curse from the commander.

I snap in action without even knowing my plan. "Iona!" I bark on the team channel, "We need a scanner sweep of the whole ship!"

To her credit, Iona understands what I mean before I do and soon orders the whole team to positions located at every corner of the ship. Mine happens to be in the comm. room, so I just stay put and explain the plan, more for myself than the other persons in the room.

"We're going to use our suits' passive sensors to triangulate the position of the emitter based on its relative intensity and distance from each member's receiver, once that's done we can pinpoint its exact position anywhere on the ship and dispatch a team to shut it off."

"At this point," Keyes sighs, "It's pointless, they're probably already on their way."

"We can stuff the beacon in a pelican and jump …"

"No, the first thing they'll do is send slipspace probes, they probably did already…

Of course, I should have known this, damn it! "And if they detect a ship entering slipspace…"

"They'll be on it as soon as it returns to normal space…" Her tone is grim and I just know she intends to go down with the ship, except that won't be necessary.

"Then we create a Slipspace rupture and send the pelican trough." He face light up for just a second, then darkens again.

"But someone has to pilot it in." Oh. Yeah. Fuck.

The ship's AI? Yeah, Cole Protocole is _so_ behind this idea… "I'll do it."

"The rads will kill you." She says, dead panned, "And if they don't, the covenants will."

Who cares? I'm expendable, a throwaway soldier, I was since day one at camp Currahee.

"I know." A nav marker appears on my helmet and I break into a sprint, my strained muscles immediately begging for mercy. My feet slip on the metal floor and I ram in a wall hard enough to dent it. This barely slows me down and I am sprinting once again a hundredth of second later. I squeeze pass a confused navy man, practically run on the wall at the next bend, which forces me to leap over a pair of Marines. I could have just gone through, but that would have been rude, wouldn't it?

I roll to a stop, laughing my ass out.

The marker is in the room to the right. I kick the blast door open without bothering to try the keyboard. It explodes inward, revealing a dark supply room.

The signal comes from a box of condoms… Fuck, could this situation be any more hilarious? I just survived parasites, Covenants, nukes and Innies to be killed by a box of rubbers.

I grab it and turn to see Chase and Demetro emerge from the other end of the corridor.

"Hey, boss, wait up!" Chase calls, jogging over to me.

"What?" I snap, the box in hands.

"Take off your helmet!" the urgency in his voice convinces me not to question him.

No sooner have I removed the thing that I feel a slight sting in my neck, numbing my whole face and chest. My legs collapse under me and I land on my knees,

Chase grabs the box and smile sadly, "Sorry, boss, but it had to be done…"

I try to get up, but Demetro kicks me behind the head and I fall face first on the floor. They are already gone by the time my eyesight returns

Those bastards, _Semper fi_ my ass!

The commando helmet is out of reach, mocking me with its orange honeycombed visor, and the darkness surrounds my mind, smothering conscious thoughts. It's too late, I'm fading away and there's nothing I can do now…

_Fuck that noise! Don't piss around, Spartan, get up and walk!_

I push as hard as possible against the steel floor, rising a centimeter after another. Faster, Christ's sake!

A good shove succeeds in making me sit, but my legs simply won't respond and there's nothing I can do against it, so a change in plan is necessary.

My whole body is numb, which means I barely realize it when I collapse back on the floor, knocking my forehead again. I bring my right arm ahead and it slumps on the floor, limp and exhausted from the tiny effort. My left arm follows, dragging me an inch closer to my helmet, then my right valiantly rises to crash back to the floor, bothe trembling under the effort needed to hold my face off the floor.

I drag myself like that on two meters, to where my helmet rolled when I dropped it, and finally roll on my back, helmet secured in place.

"Sierra G051 here, private Charles Kruger and Henry Demetro are in possession of…"

Commander Keyes' voice is grim. "Too late, Orca four."

I stare at the ceiling while my suit runs the usual checkup.

Bio-metric sensors blink red, warning me that I have been infected by a strong, non-lethal paralyzing agent, whatever that...

Wait, what?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 35: Returning to Action<strong>

* * *

><p>I rise to my feet and groan.<p>

Commander Keyes and two doctors are trying to run a diagnostic on me, but fail, my suit somehow rejecting their diagnostic equipment. Whoever made my armor doesn't want anyone to thinker with it, apparently.

"So," I ask, brushing a pair of marines away when they try to hold me up, "Why we still alive?"

They explain what actually happened; Chase and Demetro tried to get away with the only slipspace shuttle aboard, but someone else took it, so they went for a Pelican instead and, after a few seconds of discussion with the bridge crew, flew it through a jump rupture.

Fucking nut jobs; my suit has slipspace reinsertion, I could survive the trip, they can't, they're dead already, whether or not the Covenants fell for it.

In any event, we're safe now, two jumps away from the system and a month away from our next assignment.

"You okay, soldier?" The Commander asks, more by principle than actual worry.

"Yes, ma'am." I reply, keeping my voice even despite the lone tear now dripping along my cheek inside the MJOLNIR helmet.

Someone says something, but I don't listen and just walk away. John Smith. It's crystal clear in my mind, no idea why; John Smith is the one responsible for it. The hidden bioweapon research facility, the edited reports, the communication failure, the covenant beacon. Someone wanted what happened on Omega Astralis to remain secret…

Whoever it was, they endangered my whole squad and killed two of my friends. The outcome is not in question, I will kill them, sooner or later, they're already dead, and they don't even know it.

I head straight for Cryo, ignoring the calls from members of my team.

000

**-[August 2551]-**

**-[Slip Space]-**

**-[UNSC ****_In Amber Clad_****]-**

**-[Cryogenics]-**

I didn't dream, or if I did, I don't remember it. Doesn't matter.

Pulling myself out of the pod, I notice with delight that my freezer burns are nowhere as bad as they should be from going in with full MJOLNIR armor.

Next, I look around and see the rest the team emerging from pods to my right, all armored and bitching on private frequencies about hurting like a bitch.

I walk up to Iona and ask for a briefing.

"Fuck, Chris," She whines, rolling her shoulders tentatively, "Give me a sec, okay?"

I look around and notice B312.

"So," I ask her on private comms, "Anything happened while we were out?"

"Can't say, I went in right after you…" I nod and scan the room for weapons racks, HUD searching for any UNSC weapon tracker.

There are none in this part of the _Amber_. I don't like not having a weapon, but, still, with my armor and squad, whoever messes with us is as good as dead.

Bob slaps my shoulder, a sign that he noticed how tense I looked and whatever's happening, he's got my back.

Finally, after a minute of confused stretching and suit diagnostics, we all flash our acknowledgement lights green three times, the 'go go go' signal, meaning whatever Iona has for us, we're all ready for it.

"Alright, guys," the team leader calls, "Operation name is Blood Gate, Cole protocol has been enacted on this colony, the Marines aboard will take care of evacuating the civilians…"

Trevor removes his left shoulder pad, bothered by something stuck in it, and a pair of human fingers fall off, making us all stare in confusion.

"Uh…" He checks his whole armor for more mementoes, but find none, "sorry…"

"Anyway, our job will be to spearhead an assault on the Covenant staging area in the mountains nearby."

Fal crosses her arms and lean against the wall, "How many covies?"

Iona asks to whoever out handler is trough a secure channel and comes back with an aswer a second later, "In the hundreds of thousands."

Fal draws her sword –I still don't know where she got it from- and run an armored finger on the edge, "Dibs on anything with a sword." She announces, sheathing her weapon again.

Bob chuckles darkly, "And I want dibs on anything with a rifle…"

Following the flow, Trev announces he wants any eventual Apes for himself and I follow suit, "I call dibs on the rest."

Abby slaps my chest piece and I shrug, not saying anything.

"_Anyway_," Iona sounds more than a little exasperated, "We'll go in with the ODSTs from four other ships, that's eight hundred Helljumpers, we'll have to keep them on the defensive for two days with just that, but it is not our problem, we're just there to take care of any heavy lifting.

"Method of insertion?" I'd like to use our new armors' orbital entry capacities, but that's not safe enough for HIGHCOM and we're expensive, so they're dropping us trough SOEIV insertion, right behind enemy lines. As if that was any safer.

We just walk out the room, step trough a corridor and enter the SOEIV room where every small arms in the UNSC armory are laid out on steel table with two weapons technician ready to note everything we're taking.

I see a sniper rifle of the same model as Demetro had and that causes my guts to twitch.

My hands act without my consent, picking a BR55 and installing a shotgun attachment.

Follwing along with my instinctual choice, I quickly load a pair of clips and tape them together in a fashion such that I'll only have to remove the first and spin it around to reload.

Next, I insert a pair of combat knives in my shoulder mounted sheathes and fill all my pockets with ammo for the shotgun and BR55. I also grab an SMG as sidearm and use tape to secure clips on my chest and thigh.

I make sure to pick up a few explosives too; two lotus mines, a dozen fragmentation grenades, six C-11 shaped charges and detonators and, finally, what seems to be a Fury TACNUKE.

Trev blinks a yellow light at me twice, 'What the fuck?'.

I raise my closed fist faster than I meant to and part my fingers. 'Boom.'

G186 turns his palm outward, 'No shit?' and I repeat the gesture, 'No shit.'

Trev decides to keep taping HE rockets to his assault webbing, trying to find spots not already occupied by MA5C drum magazines.

To his left, Fall took an auto-shotgun and a standard issue pump action one as backup. I guess that makes sense since both shotties are of different calibers.

Iona and Abby don't trouble themselves with it that much and go for standard issue weapons, except with lots of technical support gear and a Spartan laser each, while Bob assembles himself a custom rifle from parts of four different anti-materiel guns.

He then lovingly secure the high-powered rag tag piece of junk in his pod and we all do the same with out gear, trying to fit as much stuff as possible in the tiny compartments.

When they gave us augmented strength, it wasn't with the desire that we'd go toe to toe with the covenants, in today's battlefield, close combat is not that much a big part, instead, it was to allow us to pack more firepower and ammo for it, so we can fight harder and longer.

That, and it helps us bunch their skulls in when they get too close.


	8. Spartans Never Die, Bitch

**Chapter 36: CHAPTER 2**

* * *

><p>With the gravity absorbers and gel layers, the drop is very far from the rocky ride it could be, although it's not quite the smoothest ride I ever had…<p>

Well, it's smoother than my last, anyway.

I maneuver my pod to the right a little and Iona barrels past me, a trail of flames immediately filling my window, leaving it dark and scorched.

"Bitch." I growl on the comm., earning a mocking laugh from my team leader.

Fal and Trevor also speed by me, singing something cavalry tune.

Bob and Abby are lagging behind, as always, since their role is rarely needed during the first steps of the engagement, as for me, I just gotta land at some point after Fal and Trev.

For some reason, I'm afraid of the patch of white down bellow, closing on me fast, maybe it's vertigo or maybe it's common fucking sense, I dunno and don't much care, I'm fucking falling from orbit and that scares the living shit out of me; why or how isn't important.

"Oi! Chris, your bios are going ape, you okay?" Abby seems a bit… Tense lately, something on the last op got her very nervous and she can't seem to shake that unease. In any event, I feel like my stomach is in my skull and have no idea where my brain ran off to, so I'm not 'okay' but nothing she has to get worried about.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just…" Well, whatever it is I'm just, it'll have to wait, since my stomach just took back its place, my brain came out of hiding and the hatch to my pod exploded from its spot, so it's time to do some killing.

Ahead, Trev and Fal are taking cover behind their pods and Iona is yelling at me from somewhere to the right to lay some sniper fire on that shade.

I punch open the left weapon compartment, snatch the battle rifle and leap out of my pod.

We're in an freezing canyon, large icicles hanging from the cliffs and over out heads, some of them the size of the empire state building, some even bigger.

The canyon is as wide as a Phoenix-class ship and twice longer, which will make it a perfect battlefield, negating the Covies numerical advantage.

The shade is set up on a plasma-melted platform in one of those icicles. I line it up with my scope, but the slope it providing the gunner with natural cover.

I can almost heat chief Mendez; 'This here's concealment, not cover! You know the difference? Concealment keeps them from seeing you and cover keeps them from killing you.'

I line up the crosshair with the spot the Grunt's head should be and squeeze a three rounds burst.

The shade shuts up and Trevor can finally get out from behind his pod and on to what seems to be like a natural ice ramp leading to the Covenant encampment, a hundred meters further and two hundred meters lower down the 'ramp', which actually looks more like a semi-steep cliff with holes the size of buildings all over it.

Trev drops on his ass, carried forward onto the ramp itself by his momentum, and keep firing all the way down, trying to keep the four dozens of elites waiting for him bellow from taking potshots at him.

I got in right afterward, but don't slide, I just fall the two hundred meters with my gel layer and grav absorbers set to max.

On the way down, I get a sudden and quite understandable adrenaline surge, something Curtis called Spartan time, that lets me analyze every single details.

Thirty two rocks in a roughly semi-circular formation fifty meters ahead , are providing the covenants with cover, so as soon as I touch down, I'll be in a snow plain without clear shot at them and with no decent cover, so I prime two grenades, lob them, then prime two more and keep going until I'm out.

Not very economic, but by the time Trev and I hit the snow and the rock bellow, the Elites are already rushing out of cover.

Trev opens fire and I follow suit, dropping shields with short controlled bursts. As soon as I've overloaded the energy bubbles, the victim is bound to get some lead in them from Trevor's suppressive fire.

The Covenant are firing back, but are too concerned about still undetonated grenades and concealment to aim adequately.

The final frags pop, throwing snow all over in a micro-snowstorm and forcing us to stop firing.

The others arrive, hitting the snow in fashions varying from Trevor's slide to my own jump and going by just using jet packs on the descent, but the common point is that they all lay flat on their stomach as soon as they realize there's no cover.

The others had a quick tutorial on how to use their suits and are a lot more fluent; I had to put mine on with a giant flower chasing and no one has yet gotten around to giving me the user manual.

A blip appears on my HUD, mission update fro Iona; eliminate another shade emplacement thirty meters forward, right above the Elites, and use it on the split lips.

Sound plan, mostly since that means we don't get shot at as much.

First idea is to use jump jets to get there, but there are some angry aliens in that canyon with high powered plasma weaponry just waiting for me to give them a clear target, so I opt for some free climbing.

Of course, that means getting up and exposed on that hundred meters sprint, but Iona's a genius, she'll have planned for it.

Fuck, you better have planned for it, genius.

I get up and get running. As expected, I also get shot at, but every time a plasma round pierces the shroud of snow, Bob or Iona trace its point of origin and place a few accurate shots trough the shooter's skull.

So long as I keep run… Oh, hey: the wall.

Seems Mjolnir armor does boost out speed quite a bit; I was so busy looking at the danger zone, to the left I almost crashed into the canyon's ice wall.

I jump, draw my combat knives and dig the two of them in the hard ice, climbing my way like that by arm strength. Sure, the armor helps, but it's so heavy the ice spider webs around the blades at every step.

Wish I could do something with my legs, but trying to kick notches in the ice for me to rest them on could potentially result in extreme unpleasantness, such as ice avalanche.

I keep this up, one hand after another, for almost a full minute. No one's shooting at me, all too busy with the rest of Orca, and that's just fine by me. I like excitement, but excitement while trying to sneak up on a heavy weapons position just isn't welcome.

Soon enough, I'm within jumping distance and instead of doing some complicated wall running bullshit or whatever, I activate my jet pack, both knives in hand and… kinda hug the Elite minor in charge of the position. Once he's down, I just kicked the four Grunts off the platform and jump in the shade.

A few dozen of meters bellow, more Elite are taking cover behind the rocks, oblivious to the fact there's now a Spartan with a heavy plasma weapon to their left…

Well, oblivious until I start killing.

0

0

0

Chapter 2: Thermopylae

**-[July 2556]-**

**-[Earth]-**

**-[London]-**

**-[GNN News Station]-**

"What happened then?" The woman asks, apparently unfazed by the floating cameras dancing around us. Her fake blue eyes try to look piercing, but I've stared an Elite in the face while it tried to kill me, so as intimidating as she could be, I ain't impressed.

That woman annoys the hell out of me, but I still decided to do that interview as a favor to Lord Hood, since he helped me get a legitimate identity; he wanted people to see a Spartan's take on the whole child training thing.

It ended up with that bitch asking me how many peoples I had killed by the time I lost my virginity.

I try to recall the details of that battle. They all get mixed up in my memory, every battle is the same, except it's unique as well, that's the only thing I miss from the war; waking up in the morning, knowing exactly where I was going and that things would never go the same way twice…

I actually took part in only five skirmishes before the battle of Earth, that Orca ended up sitting out, since we were leading a recovery mission around Reach.

"The ODSTs arrived," I recall, "and we were able to advance and take cover near the rocks. We…"

She straighten her pink jacket and speaks again, "So you went in while the ODSTs stayed behind?"

"No, we spearheaded the assault, which means we were on the frontline attracting Covenant fire while…"

"They stayed behin…"

"If you interrupt me one more time," I explain, plainly, "this interview is over."

He mouth hangs open, trying to come up with a snappy reply, but her crappy show needs some sort of boost and interviewing a Spartan is exactly that kind of boost. I walk out, she ends up doing weather forecast.

"Excuse me, you were saying?"

Yeah, you better be sorry, dumbass.

"The ODSTs didn't have Mjolnir armor nor increased reflexes, yet they managed to fight off ten time their numbers before we were overrun and even as we were, I saw men fight with missing limbs and others beat Grunts with their bare hands. ODSTs fought just as hard as we did, we just happened to have a few perks that allowed us to get out alive…"

"Such as a tactical nuclear bomb."

"Yeah, such as that."

The conversation switches to what my squad and I are doing now that the Spartans of Gamma Company are forbidden from serving in military outfits.

Actually, I have been thinking about it for months now. I am educated to the same level as anyone with a Ph.D. M.D or any other thing with a D in it. I have the knowledge to do anything I want, but, the thing is, whatever I do, it'll be cheating.

I was not taught to obey laws, I was shown how to cheat at cards, how to hack bank accounts for money, not to mention I could kill someone if I so much as sneeze too hard.

That's why I took up Iona's offer to pool our credits, buy parts and assemble a 'Spartan-Class cargo ship', something Abby drew, Then, maybe we'll go help rebuild the outer colonies, fight off the Covenant remnants.

"So even though you have been freed, you hold no grudge against the UNSC and even want to continue the fight, that's very… Noble." She means it, but she doesn't understand…

"We're not doing this for nobility, we can't do anything else."

She laugh at that, "Well, at least you're honest about it. So, could you explain why the UEG directed us to you as a potential guest?"

I look around the room for a second; It's almost an interrogation cell, like the one they had me stuck in for days after the war, except this one has comfy chairs, no armed guards and there's two cameras floating around.

Fact is, I know why they made that decision, but I don't know how much I'm cleared to say; she has the accreditation level and the project was unclassified with the UEG taking over again, but fact is, no one, in the whole galaxy, outside the Spartans themselves know about the set of drugs used by the rest of Gamma company.

I decide to play dumb: "Well, you see, I'm the closest thing you'll find to a public relationship specialized Spartan, since my team was attached to ONI secti…"

Someone speaks in her headset and she makes a cutting gesture with her hand. We're not transmitting anymore, I told about as much as ONI was going to let me…

The host, Amy Tesler, apologize to me, but I dismiss the incident with a shrug, "Kind of bullshit I signed up for…" I remove the mic pined to my leather jacket's collar and give it to the woman before leaving the studio, to find Iona and Trevor waiting for me outside. Both are sitting on plastic chairs, near the silver elevator doors. Trevor's wearing a t-shirt with cargo pants and Iona… well Iona's wearing the same thing, except with a jacket like mine and a red military beret, worn over her shaved head.

"You just talked more in two hours than…" Iona tries to recall something, but Trev cuts her off:

"Ever."

He's kinda right; I had a lot to say, I suppose... The war's been over for years now, we were pulled from duty mere months ago, though, and this is all still new to me.

The elevator doors part, revealing Fal and Abe, the former wearing a _fluffy_ black skirt and blue tank top while the latter is clad in a pink summer dress, both carrying large bags which I suspect are filled with more clothes.

"Fal, Abby... You look like girls!" Trev breathes, genuinely surprised. Fal now has her hair a little over shoulder length while Abby has them hanging all the way to the middle of her back. She needs to pack them in a tight, uh, _'ball'_ when she's in armor.

Trev gets smacked behind the head by Iona _–she actually had to stand on her tiptoes to smack him and the girl's not small- _and the others step aside to let us in the glass cage.

The TV studio is far from the buzzing hub of activity I imagined, but maybe it's just this level, I don't care, we got a ship to build.

I squeeze between Iona and Abejundio, listening as Fal and Trevor discuss our 'benefactor' behind us.

After everything was unclassified, we learned that out suit had actually been bought straight from the new civilian manufacturers by some fake company, which is why we got such high-tech model and why ONI was so suspicious at us after the war.

Of course, the Office soon went back to the state of passive intelligence gathering, so they had to let us leave with some of the most powerful piece of equipment made by man.

We own our suits, nobody in ONI can track the payment's origin and, thus, can't claim to own the armors, making them ours by the universal rule of shut the fuck up.

"Damn stupid of them, to make SPARTAN IVs just a bunch of guys with fancy suits and steroids shots…" Abby's sudden outburst makes me jump.

Iona, as always, speaks in a neutral yet confident voice: "People want to know being a super-soldier is not the privilege of a few, that anyone can be a Spartan, makes us less scary."

Abby disagrees, "They're not Spartans! The augmentation is just a tiny part of us, you need dedication, training… It's like strapping an accountant in combat fatigues, giving him a gun and saying he's a marine!"

After a short silence, I shrug, and say "Well, never expected I'd live to see any of you grow hairs…" I turn to Trev, eyeing his rough beard, "In your faces…"

Fal and Abe choke on their laugh while Iona smiles. Ahead, the doors part on a muddied and beat up six wheeled pickup truck with G123 leaning on the driver door. He wears a white t-shirt with dark sunglasses and pale blue jeans.

"Everything okay, little guy?" Trev calls, walking across the sidewalk to jump in the truck bed.

Bob climbs in the driver seat and announces that our ship was delivered at Manchester Starport.

Iona, Fal and Abejundio fit themselves in the Cabin, but Trev and I, being the two largest of the squad, get to ride out back.

Whatever they're talking about in there, they think it's fun, since they spend the next five minutes laughing.

Trev and I exchange an equally confused look, but after a second, he decides to fetch himself a Sweet Williams cigar in my jacket.

Curtis sent them to us, called them 'Cigars of Victory'. Most of us don't smoke, Trevor and I being the only exception, so we got a crate full of expensive death sticks waiting for us along with all of our belongings at the landing pad.

I toss him my lighter and he ignites his cigar. "To our freedom…" He takes a drag and exhale it in the wind with a sigh, "May we grow rich, selfish and fat!"

I smile, "Amen."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 37: Boss<strong>

* * *

><p>"Boss," Fal calls, observing the ship, "Tell me someone dumped scrap metal on our ship…"<p>

It looks like an old Boeing 747 with shorter wings, no tail and a pair of oversized jets in the ass. A Bison-class cargo ship, six hundred passengers capacity for short duration flights, so long as everyone stays in their seat, except this one is a cargo model, intended for long flights cargo haul and reduced crews with everyone having a four meters wide, boxy living space with their own toilet, shower and such. Twenty crew members or passengers at max and a cargo bay large enough to fit about four Warthogs or a Pelican, with some imagination.

I walk to the frontal ramp and look around the cargo area; it's dark, a pair of metal catwalks and two small elevators are all that occupy it, that and lots of dust.

The others are still arguing about just how she could buy such a piece of junk with all the money the UNSC gave us –our previous account on Reach was cancelled after… well, after being melted to shit- and Iona retorts that six hundred thousand credits isn't really that much when you're buying damned cargo ships. This one got almost two hundred families off Harvest and kept supplying UNSC forces on the frontline during the war.

She's a war veteran, just like us. She's fat, the paint is gone, half the thing was jury rigged together with duct tape and it doesn't have weapons, but it has proved itself to be indestructible many times in the war.

I run my fingers on the cargo hold's wall, feeling the years of service under my fingers in the form of bumps, scratches and dents.

Behind me the others are still complaining, so I call for the to shut the hell up.

"This ship has earned respect. It might not be pretty, but that is our job; we take care of her and she'll take care of us."

Trev walks up to me and grin, cigar stuck at the corner of his mouth. "Zombie boy's right; let's get to work guys."

First step is to replace the windshield with plates hardened glass, like those used on Mjolnir armors, which Abby somehow managed to find for free, along with Prowler-meant ablative plating and a stealth engine. Probably hacked ONI shipping system or something.

Fal and I are told to replace the ceramic thermal shields with the ablative plates while Abby and Iona use the Starport's crane to install then new engine and Bob and Trevor take care of the new, hardened windows.

So we climb on top of the thing and secure ourselves with magnetic boots and knee-pad, swarming over it like ants. Fal and I quickly begin a competition to see who can install the most plates, both carrying a small stack of them on our back.

We unscrew the old, battered ones, letting them clatter to the floor where cleaning robots hurry to pick them up.

Twelve of them came with the ship, along with the six wheeler -a Salamander, the Warthogs' predecessor- and the tools.

Once the old plates are removed, we immediately install a new one instead to cover the old girl's armature, having to climb back every four plates.

The new exterior is pitch black and, unlike the old one, isn't angular at all, since it was meant to be installed on another type of ship and we can't quite go bang the high-tech things into shape…

Six hours latter, we all sit on the Salamander, eating sandwiches and watching our work; the ship now looks …mean, less fat than muscular, its new gold windows glittering in the dwindling sun and its sharp edges giving it a metallic frown. Before, it was a whale, now… I smile at the thought.

"It looks like an Orca." I tell Iona, sitting in the passenger seat with her legs hanging out.

To my left, Bob nods, his mouth full, and say something about not trying to make it swim.

"How we gonna call her?" Fal wonders, staring at a bunch of peoples massing up nearby to see the strange ship. The dust inside is being cleaned away by the maintenance bots right now, they're doing a flawless job despite the overabundance of work.

"Sparta?" Trev offers, sitting next to me on the roof.

Iona thinks about it for a second then offer the name Ghost of Onyx, but we ain't ghosts and neither is that thing, not yet anyway.

Abby come up with the name 'Thermopylae' and we all wait for someone to object.

Fact is, it's a good name, certain not to be taken and it was the original Spartan's best known victory, so I decide to agree with Abe and so does everyone else.

Next, I ask Iona who's going to do what and she thinks about it for a second…

"If anyone asks, I'm the Captain, Abby's the Pilot, Bob's the mechanic, Fal is the doctor, Trevor is the driver and you… You're security. Nothing very official, but it's best everyone has an assigned title."

We all agree it's a good idea, given our personal skills and the fact we can just as easily switch jobs; as Spartan, we're equally skilled in all of these things, except Abby is not a good fighter, yet is excellent with computers and the likes, so making her stay with the ship most of the time will draw maximum advantage of her skills.

Bob is small and agile, meaning he won't have any difficulties squeezing in the tight confines of the engine to fix whatever is broken.

Trevor is strong enough to carry the Salamander on his back if something happens and can easily load any cargo in and off it.

Fal is not only a shotgun surgeon, she's also extremely skilled with blades and never _ever_ shakes under pressure.

As for me, I'm the second best at everything; close combat, sniping, hacking, explosives, whatever the situation needs, I can do it. Not as well as a specialized Spartan, but certainly better than anyone else.

That, and I just won't die.

Someone walks up to us, a middle aged man wearing a gray business suit and sunglasses despite the fact the sun has now disappeared under the skyline. The remaining orange rays must be harmful to his eyes, I guess.

"Greetings," he calls in a low voice, "I was wondering if you were taking in passengers…"

Iona tosses her sandwich to Abe and jump out of the truck.

"Indeed we are, you will have to excuse the current lack of accommodations, we have yet to buy accessories for the rooms, although we are planning to acquire sheets, pillows, soap and shampoo before leaving the planet..." I have no idea where that came from, but her tone is very far from the commanding Iona I knew during the war… Boss is a hard to pin person, that's for sure.

Iona stops talking and clears her throat, "Uhm, sir, you do realize we have yet to decide our destination?"

The man glances around, his body language revealing extreme tension, then plunge an arm in his vest and I'm on him before his eyes have finished blinking.

I don't carry a gun, but Bob does and he tosses it to me. Two seconds of grappling and the guy is facing the dirt with a M8 magnum revolver pressed on the back of his skull.

"What are…" He begins and I press harder.

"Shut up." I search him and find a M6K pistol on his belt, on the opposite side to the one he was reaching for. In the inner pocket of his classy shirt, I find a brown envelop filled with money that I toss to Iona, along with the gun before letting the guy get up.

"Dumb move," Fal calls, "Hope your employer's smarter…"

He dust himself off and continue as if nothing had happened, "I am certain you will find ample compensation in there to change whatever plans you might have and accommodate my client…"

We all look at Iona who discreetly signs two-zero K.

Twenty thousand… Enough to buy everything we're short on, like food, comfort item and fuel cells.

"Where does he want to go?" Iona isn't stupid, she knows this deal stinks, but the money's good and we're Spartans, things should go smoothly enough.

The man shrugs, "I am just the assistant. Do you accept?"

We have a short deliberation with Iona trough discreet hand gestures and all decide we're willing to take a chance.

The Captain smiles broadly, "Yes, we leave in four hours, make sure your client is ready by then."

The man nods once before walking away toward the street, twenty meters behind us, where a black limo's waiting for him.

Once he's gone, Iona orders Abby to run pre-flight checks, as we still have no clue if the thing's space worthy.

Trevor, Iona and Fal are going to shop for supplies with the Salamander and I get to slip in armor and play big and mean for when the client arrive, both because I am security and for esthetic reasons, as the Commando suit's sharp design and high-tech feel is a good mix of mean and classy.

Or so she says, as far as I'm concerned, it's all practical.

They drive away and I walk up to the _Thermopylae_, Abby walking to my right.

"You know, I seem to recall the Spartans were all killed in Thermopylae…" I point out as we climb aboard.

She shrugs and unzip the top of the jumpsuit she slipped on before getting to work.

The white t-shirt underneath is now more kind of a grayish color, but it's still less constrictive than the thick orange jumpsuit.

Abe takes the left elevator and I take the right one. Not that it makes a difference, the catwalks actually form an U with an elevator at each edge, the second one is just closer to my destination; the armory. It's actually just a room we filled with Mjolnir armor replacement parts, ammo and combat supplies.

One of the perks of being a Spartan is that we automatically obtained the right to own military grade firearms. Using them is forbidden seventy percent of the time, but a guy in Mjolnir armor with a shotgun in his hands is usually enough to disarm any tricky situation.

I climb the ladder to the crew quarters –barely more than a corridor with five ladders on both sides, leading both to the rooms underneath and over the hallway.

The armory is the first one on the right, lower level.

I slide down the ladder and the hatch opens to let me trough.

A pair of old M392s, four MA5Cs, eight MA5Ks, a dozen different types of pistols and two Spartan lasers make up our whole armory, along with tons of crates filled with electronic pieces add-ons and replacement parts.

Most of them we salvaged on the battlefield during the war and had delivered to a warehouse in London.

My own armor received very little modifications over that time, outside the ODST shoulder pads, combat knife sheathes integrated to these pads and the slot in the back made to accommodate that dogleg machete a militia leader gave me back on Dancer.

I'm a bit of a knife nut, I must say, but not as much as Fal; she has four hundred different types of knives and has the most impressive collection of plasma swords I've ever seen, ranging from the regular blue model to the ornate silver and even a few blood red ones.

Actually putting on a Mjolnir suit takes at least fifteen minutes, if you don't cheat, but I can put mine on in two, thanks to a few tricks I've developed; for instance, I modified mine so the under suit can break in five sections I can slip on easily, even though it's a bit of a puzzle and requires my suit to re-lock every pieces, which is a pain in the butt, as the slightest misalignment will prevent it from locking correctly.

First, I take off my clothes and neatly fold them on the floor with my sneakers standing atop the pile, then I slip on the under layer.

Many people think it's rubber or something like that, because of the black color, but that layer is actually made out of titanium plates worn over a strength boosting, speed increasing crystal layer. The thing is extremely flexible because the plates were designed that way.

Next comes the fusion pack and chest piece, shaped like an over-armored tank top and fitted with many metal cases for ammo and item storage.

Third part is the whole legs section along with the waist, crotch piece and boots. These are the trickiest parts both to put on and manufacture; they had to create something that would provide good protection without making us feel like we're wearing ski boots.

In any case, putting the on without having to take the things apart requires me to try and bent the titanium covering my feet so that it will fit in the narrow passage of the boots' ankles, something quite hard to do, since they did not give our toes that much maneuverability…

The arms are easy, since it's the most elaborate section of the armor when in comes to the segmented under suit and least complex outer layer-wise.

The armor locks everything with a satisfying hiss, the gel layer pressurizes until it's fitting my shapes perfectly, then it heats a bit, trying to match my body temperature, which it achieves a second later.

On my HUD, system checks are flashing green all across, my personal MP3 selection begins playing, with the Helljumper theme song filling my ears.

The thing beeps twice and EVA's voice pops trough my earpiece.

"Welcome, Chris," Drones the pleasant female voice, "You have a new message from Chief Petty Officer Curtis and your downloads are at seventy percent."

"Thanks, EVA. How are you adapting to the ship?"

She's a tenth generation, a mix of human and Covenant tech. Even ONI's not sure what she's capable of, but Abe qualified her as having the potential of a ten years old child with access to the UNSC's nuclear stockpiles.

Long story short, Abby likes EVA who likes her back and I think that's creepy.

"This vessel's electronics are inadequate. It lacks the processing power of a Mjolnir suit and has no cyber-warfare suite."

"We're not military anymore, EVA," I scoff, "we have to tighten the belt."

"I have recorded no fluctuation in Orca team's physical condition."

As I said; smartest AI ever produced.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 38: The Deal<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>-[July 2556]-<strong>

**-[Earth]-**

**-[Manchester]-**

**-[Starport]-**

_Macolm Reynolds(to villagers about to burn River Tam): "Cut her down."_

_Villager: "The girl is a witch."_

_Reynolds: "Yeah, but she's our witch-" (cocks gun, points it at him) "-so cut her the hell down."_

The _'employer'_ walks into the _Pylae_ with a pair of maintenance bots lugging her stuff around; sport bags, vacuum capable crates, bottles of liquid nitrogen and so on…

Must be a full laboratory in there.

I resist the urge to snap a salute as I walk up to her.

"Doctor Farkas, I presume…"

She brushes past me without a word and take the right lift, heading straight to her quarters.

"Welcome aboard."

The 'bots quickly stow her stuff around the cargo bay and I figure I'll patrol the pad, let peoples know there's a fully armored Spartan guarding this ship.

Walking out in the cold night of London, I feel very small all of a sudden.

In lonely moments like those, I remember my first mission, all these lives I took… I don't feel guilt, I just can't bring myself to believe I did it; me, the kid –admittedly an extremely well trained and educated kid- standing on that pad with his stomach growling in hunger and his desire for a chicken burger with extra spicy sauce. I'm not a hero, I might have been a soldier, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm just another human being, living for the sake of it and not looking to avenge his family or some grand cause, just living because I enjoy it.

I guess I felt like I had the weight of humanity on my shoulders before, and now it only have my own and fuck's sake I'm a lightweight.

No mistake, I loved being a Spartan, but getting back to the civilian life is one of the best things that has ever happened to me, after that failed Flood infection, anyway.

I'm not sure how it works, but it was estimated that as long as my brain and vital organs are functional, the rest will keep working; no shock, no sickness and no freezing to death.

In theory anyway, I'm not eager to try anything out, as it's not miraculous and pain still hurts.

The Salamander passes the Starport checkpoint, about fifty meters down the pads-surrounded street, and drives up to our spot.

The Sal looks just like its namesake, with its angular shapes and low frame giving it a reptilian look.

Salamanders were phased out many years ago because they were more transport oriented that Warthogs, but have better carrying capacities, are less prone to flipping over and… Well, that's it; the Warth is faster, better armored, smaller and has a mounted gun and open cabin.

The back of the truck is filled with boxes and barrels to the point they had to use the cargo net to hold it all together. There's also a beaten up looking trailer at the back, loaded with even more supplies.

The Sal drives up the _Pylae_'s loading ramp and stops in the middle of the cargo area.

Trevor and Fal step out of the back seats and begin unloading crates straight to the floor, where maintenance bots are quick to stow them in the wide empty area.

The cargo bay makes up for a lot of the craft; thirty meters long, twenty-five meters wide and eleven meters high, if you don't count the U shaped catwalk.

If you climb right, you'll end up in that corridor I was in earlier and, from there, you can continue forward for about fifty meters, then turn left and end up in the ship's common area, a large circular spot that used to be spinning, before artificial gravity. From there, you can go left into the engine room, ahead to the hydroponic and infirmary area or right, to the ship's literal 'spine', a corridor cutting the thing in two across the back and leading straight to the cockpit.

"Hey, Zombie!" Bob calls, dragging me out of my mental revision, "You met our ice queen yet?"

I shrug, "She's aboard if it's what you're asking, didn't talk to her nor got a good look at the girl…"

Bob's blue eyes are sparkling with amusement, "She's just that; Ice queen, pale, cold, blonde, blue eyed and one heck of an a…"

Iona's smack practically throws him out of the driver seat and he has to roll to keep from crashing face first into the titanium floor.

"Ow! You bitch!" He whines while Boss climbs out.

"You know," Trev points out, "You fit that description yourself…" Big guy grabs two barrels of liquid hydrogen and throw both on his shoulder like they weight nothing.

"Aw, Trevy, lad!" G123 chirps in a sultry tone, "I didn't know you thought that 'bout my arse…"

Trev snorts as he drops the barrels and picks up a crate of vegetable seeds for the hydro room.

"Of course; it is round and firm just the way I like my targets…" He makes a dart throwing gesture to emphasize his point.

Iona takes the seeds away from G186 and leaves the area with four bags of dirt large enough to crush a _normal_ girl her size. The elevator actually has a hard time bringing her to the catwalk and I have no idea how she expect to climb the ladder with all this stuff, but it is that same creativity that makes her the boss.

The loading ramp rises slowly and I sit on the tip, facing the hold. Once the elevation is steep enough, I just slide in the ship.

"Well," I call to the others, "I'll pretend I didn't just hear you say you'd like to plant your dart up Bob's ass and skip straight to 'Who's cooking?'"

They look around at themselves and all point at me in one motion.

Great, now I'll have to spend the next thirty minutes taking that suit off…

Or not; I'm sure I can cook with Mjolnir armor on…

The kitchen is in the common area, taking up one fourth of the place, sitting between the doors to the cockpit and hydro.

I don't need to call one of the lifts to climb, I just fire my jetpack and land on the catwalk. It groans under the strain, but nothing more.

A fully armored Spartan weights about half a ton, so I can understand why that catwalk's bitching…

Once in the kitchen, I search through our supplies for something not caned and spot some frozen chicken along with all the ingredients I need to make some paste. Kat is speaking about everything and nothing and, after a minute or so, my brain stops registering her voice.

The kitchen is really just a set of cooking instruments installed along the circular wall and a counter, two meters away from the wall

First I cut the chicken to thumb sized bits, then toss the whole package in a stainless bowl and start whipping it slowly, because I'm still wearing Mjolnir armor and could tear thins kitchen apart if I'm not careful.

There's an oil basin meant for fries and the likes, but it will do for now; I toss the meat in the basket and lower the thing into the boiling oil. Then, while that's cooking, I fetch a couple of onions, some peppers and a bag of rice.

"Now that's a sight."

Ahead, beyond the counter, the Doc just entered the room, wearing simple jeans and t-shirt, her silver hairs tied in a pony tail.

She's older than us, yet younger than Doc Halsey, probably somewhere in her thirties.

I pour the rice in a cauldron, fill it with water and put the thing on the oven.

"May I help you?" I call while looking around for a knife and cutting board.

She walks to the 'living room', the part opposite to the kitchen, and sit in a sofa facing me. Unlike earlier, she's actually smiling.

"I was just wondering where that smell was coming from… I did not know Spartans were taught how to cook…"

I find what I'm looking for and begin cutting the vegetables in a near machine like fashion. No need to be careful; I'm wearing titanium gloves.

"We're taught a lot of things, Doctor."

"So I see… " She frowns, suddenly realizing I'm the same Spartan she ignored in the cargo bay, "I'd like to apologize for my rudeness earlier; I was caught up in my calculations and in a hurry to write them down."

Well, so much for Bob's analysis, although I can't tell about the ass part nor do I care to… Okay, maybe just a little bit.

"It's alright, ma'am," I grab a frying pan and drop the vegetables in it before putting the thing next to the rice, "May I ask what you are working on?" She sits at the stainless table, spinning the chair to face me.

"Oh, something about Covenant slipspace engines, I doubt you'd understand…"

I lean on the counter and smile under my helmet, "Humor me."

She seems to be thinking intensely for a few second, then begins spilling facts and data about our SF drive and the covenant equivalent.

We can travel two to three light-years in twenty four hours, which is enormous, but Covenant ship can travel nine hundred light-years per twenty four hours which means it would take them two months to cross the whole galaxy.

Then, she explains that our drive and that of the Covenant use the same basic principle of opening a wormhole and slipping in it, except that we hammer our way through while the covies delicately slip in.

"So we could modify out own Shaw-Fujikawa engines to be as fast as the Covenant's?" I ask after a minute of her spewing numbers and theory names that no longer make any sense to me.

"Exactly!" She confirms, "That's why we're going to meet an Unggoy ship near Pluto; they accepted to trade us a functional Covenant slipspace drive for some medical equipment."

So that's why there's a fucking lab down there…

"And then, what? You plan on trying it out on our ship?" The look in her eyes tells me I should have kept my mouth shut. "She's in Hydro." I inform, pointing to the door at her right.

The Doc hurries over there and I curse myself when the rice starts smelling burnt.

I can already hear Bob's jokes about burning the food because of the ice queen's smoking ass or some shit. I don't know where he comes up with that stuff, but the guy seems to have an unlimited supply of wises to crack.

I spend about twenty more minutes cooking while calculating the time it would take us to reach various destinations if we had a Covenant FTL drive.

Then, once everything's ready, I put the food in heating plates on the table and fetch some Tao sauce from the fridge.

"Chris here, food's ready."

0

0

0

**-[July 2556]-**

**-[Pluto's Orbit]-**

**-[Spartan-class Freighter _Thermopylae_]-**

**-[Cargo Area]-**

I load the MA5C and pull back the bolt with a satisfying sound of well oiled metal grinding on metal.

I didn't know it until now, but there is an airlock in the cargo area, two meters behind the ramp; it lowers from the ceiling when you try to open the ramp outside atmosphere, even when there's another ship connected to the airlock. Some kind of anti piracy system…

Now, I'm standing in it with full armor alongside the doc and Trevor. Big guy's also fully armored while Farkas is wearing a vacuum suit.

We won't be in vacuum, but the Grunts breathe extremely cooled methane, meaning we can't survive in their ship.

The ramp can't quite lower without breaking something in the other ship, so we open the meter wide square hatch built in it and I go first, shield in over mode.

The room beyond is the Unggoys own cargo bay, about half the size of ours and with purple angular crates forming an half circle. Thermal scan reveals Grunts hiding all over the place, in addition to the three standing in plain sight.

I send the image to the others and Iona tells us to complete the transaction without the doc.

Trev pushes the supplies trough the hatch then step trough, his massive frame causing the Grunts to back away slightly.

"You got this?" He asks over private comm.

"I got this." I step forward and take in every details; the round armors worn by the Grunt, definitively better that the standard Covenant models, their Needlers, held in had with confidence. They're professionals and I have a feeling this will go very badly.

All three of them are keeping their distances, five meters away.

"We have your supplies, where's our engine?"

They look at each other for a second, then the one in the middle responds in his native language.

The translation takes a second to arrive, longer than I'd like, "Deal change, Farkas not real Scientist, we no do business."

I increase the power output to my shields and Trevor does the same. "Then you're not getting medical supplies."

The Grunts formerly hiding jump out of cover, armed with weapons ranging from plasma rifles to fuel rod canons.

"We are taking medicines and your ship." The Grunt hisses threateningly. "Put down weapon, or else."

I do as told and Trevor follows. I'd like to cloak and kill all those bitches, but they pack thermal imagers, so that's not an option.

"EVA, what's the situation?" I ask, my exterior speaker muted.

"The enemy ship has multiple plasma weapons targeting the _Thermopylae_."

"Can you help?"

Her voice suddenly explodes in the cargo bay, making every Unggoy jump in fright.

"Of course. I now have control of the hostile ship's life support and power systems, ready to vent atmosphere on your mark." I choke on a laugh at the Grunt's incredulous expressions.

"Well, gentlemen," I call, earning their attention back, "we'll take the Slipspace drive. Now."

They discuss it for about a minute and it takes EVA shutting off all lights in the ship for them to realize how deeply fucked they are. Half of them immediately leave to go get the engine, disappearing down some kind of ramp at the back of the bay.

"Damn grateful we have EVA on our side," Trev mutters, "monkey bastards would have given us quite a tan…"

Damn right, I hope things stay the way they are now, I'm sure it's best for everyone to just keep things on the level…

I didn't expect such a clever move from Grunts; we couldn't fight, we couldn't run and we couldn't hide. Fortunately, there is the 'Send in EVA' option and these bastards didn't see it coming. This still serve as a solid revelation of how complacent I have grown from the war and my status of most deadly thing on the battlefield. There's always a bigger fish, so one should never let their guard down.

The three looking at me are baring their teeth, but I think it's closer to smiles than threatening gestures…

Either way, it just makes me want to shoot them.

The FTL drive they bring us, sitting on a floating tray, is too large to fit through the hatch, but that doesn't matter, as we now don't give a fuck about their ship and just lower the ramp of ours. The Bison…

I mean, Spartan-class freighter is one solid piece of scrap, but whatever metal the Grunts use is tougher than titanium, so the ramp gets bent out of shape by the angular walls; nothing that can't be fixed by Big guy's gravity hammer.

Farkas is still in the airlock, so she checks the drive over and gives me a small nod. That's our stuff.

"EVA, shut down all their weaponry and come back." I order the AI, who gladly does as told.

We're all in the airlock, bathed in red light, when our ship detaches to get away from the Grunt's. We can't make a slipspace jump until the ramp is sealed, so Trev hammers it until the light switches to green and we all get thrown back by the sudden acceleration, except Trevor, who saw it coming and activated the magnets under his boots.

Guy's a real fucking walking tank; nothing ever brings Trevor down, even when tussling with that Brute chieftain he got his hammer from, the guy wouldn't budge.

Of course, that means his armor now looks like he's been dragged behind a speeding Warthog for hours, with bits of paint and whole chips of titanium gone.

Once the hatch opens, Trevor and the doc quickly carry the FTL drive to the back of the cargo bay. There, they ready a crank operated crane to bring the anti-gravity tray and the engine up into the engine room as soon as the doc will be done tinkering with it.

As for me, I seal the airlock and set to doing some proper repairs on that ramp.


	9. Elementary My Dear Shithead

_'.."hen you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however _improbable_, must be the truth.'_

_-Sherlock Holmes_

Curtis' message is gibberish, references of places we've never been, things we've never done, people we never met. It bugs me, but when I bring it up with Iona, she tells me to let Abby worry about that.

Fuck it, I'm going to see if Trev wants to spar.

We've set up a gymnasium in the far corner of the cargo bay; mostly just a punching bag and some weights. Trevor spends most of his time there, either working out or fine tuning the Salamander.

The _punching bag_ is actually a vacuum-rated barrel filled with sand and held in place by six inches bolts and a tungsten chain. Trevor is punching the crap out of it like it's plastic, and that's without the armor.

Trevor's twenty-one, though we used to be the same age, I spent more time in cryo than he did, getting hypno-training while he improved his physique.

He might have dropped the regulation on facial hairs, but he's still sharper that any human being I've ever seen; muscles bulge under his skin like a cartoon hero, massive veins poking from his trapeze and biceps as he bench presses two thirds of the Salamander's weight.

I catch my reflection in a mirror Trev bolted to the wall and almost laugh at myself.

I'm pale, pink scars criss-crossing my face like I had a disagreement with a lawnmower. My muscles don't bulge like Trev's, but they'd give pause to an ODST nonetheless. I could blend in with a crowd, if I'm wearing my leather jacket… Maybe.

"Hi, Chris. Do you need me?" Trevor drops the weight straight to the floor, as there's nothing in here solid enough to hold it up, and sits up to look at me.

"Don't suppose you'd care to dance?"

He laughs and shakes his head, "Fal beat you to it an hour ago, I'll let you know when my ears stop ringing…"

"Sure, mind if I have a go at the punching… Barrel?" I speak, walking up to the thing.

"All yours, little guy."

As I beat the shit out of this inanimate object, Trev goes back to the Salamander, checking the tires and oil levels.

You know, we joke around a lot and might seem undisciplined at first glance, but that's only because Orca was trained for ONI Section 2, they wanted us to show a more human face, to have pronounced personalities and such shit, I don't need to talk with the others to share information, we've developed a complex yet discreet sign language, we just talk because it helps marines relate to us.

Old habits die hard.

The doc steps off elevator One, the one on the Salamander's side, and walks up to the gymnasium, clad in shorts and a tank top. Trevor takes a discreet peek at the doc's cleavage, so fast it could just as easily have been a seizure and sticks two fingers to his lips, smiling underneath the Spartan smile.

I flip him the bird, causing the doc to spin around and look at Trevor, who just returns to his work as though nothing happened.

"Doc Farkas." The words are emotionless, though I'm supressing the need to laugh at Trevor's antics. The moment she turns back to me, he shoots me an angry glare, which I ignore. "How's your work coming along?"

Ever tried to hold a conversation while smacking a barrel with a sledgehammer? I stop punching for a while.

"Quite well; Abejundio is a very capable engineer and your ship's AI is surprisingly efficient.

EVA's mechanical voice breaks across the room, "The modifications you performed on the drive were quite astute, Doctor Farkas, it was a simple matter of adapting our own systems."

While answering, Farkas fetches the smallest weights and begins what I guess passes for yoga when you're stuck in artificial gravity. "Thank you, EVA… How did you meet the Spartans, if you don't… Uh, mind my asking?"

I see Trevor mouth _'_I'll be your_ Ass King…'_

The doc already has the lightest weights, so I'm forced to throw slightly heavier ones at my friend's face.

To us, it's like throwing a spoon… A plastic spoon. Trev catches the thing and Farkas never notices, facing the ramp instead of either of us.

"Of course, Doctor. Team Orca and I were assigned to ONI Section 2, attached to the Carrier _Atlas_, it was my job to collect feeds from their helmet cameras and filter all images that could be detrimental to population's morale while ensuring no sensitive information was broadcasted."

"So… You were their chaperon?"

"Correct." I beg to disagree, but, what the fuck, it's true.

"And you stayed with them because…" Farkas is now almost in a full split. The weight I threw Trevor hits the floor with a matte sound. For a second, I thought it was his jaw, given the way it hangs open.

"ONI wanted to decommission me. I disagreed." EVA can't synthesise anger, she always keeps an even, collected tone, deadpan is the best word I can think of.

I'm a Spartan, though, and reading others is my thing; EVA would have set off that nuclear stockpile were it not going against her primary programming.

Farkas has the brains not to ask any more questions and I resume my workout. Jabs, hooks, uppercuts, fan kicks, lateral kicks… And a headbutt, just for luck.

00000

**-[July 2556]-**

**-[Earth]-**

**-[****Sydney, Australia****]-**

**-[ONI Headquarters]-**

"Spartans!" The woman strolled through the armory with grim determination painted across her face, "Atten-Shun!"

Thirty SPARTAN-IVs dropped whatever they were doing, some quite literally, to snap crisp salutes at their commander. "Rumours!" She roared, "Rumours told me you shit brains were convinced this operation would be an easy snatch and grab, in and out like that girl you took to prom!"

Eyes cast in iron surveyed the room, "You don't know who we're up against. Think you saw everything in those vids? These… _Teenagers_, as some of you call them, ranked top of their company, who, by many account, is the best Spartan force ever assembled…" She let that hang in the air and deliberately made her boots boom across the room.

"You think the covies were bad? Those guys ate Covenants for breakfast and asked for more! Nay, they didn't ask, they went and got them! For six straight years, no shore leave, no day off, no nothing! To them, you're mall cops, boyscouts with slingshots trying to act like ODSTs, so we are going to _ask_ them to _please_ give up the doc, and I don't want a single of you _fucktards_ so much as hinting we might be willing to use force if necessary. Questions?"

Keller stepped up, his Mjolnir already on, helmet and everything.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"Ma'am, no offence, but why the speech? Orca isn't rogue, there's nothing to say they'll react aggressively…"

The Commander laughed at that, "Keller, I'm being a bitch right now because I know the whole Spartan deal might have gone to your head and I care about the dumbasses under my command… I don't want another mess like back on Galileo."

A month earlier, they had been tasked with arresting a squad of SPARTAN-IIIs break and entering a medical storage compound. Shark team, as they were later identified.

With Ackerson, Ambrose and Onyx out of the picture, Gamma Company had found itself unable to obtain anti-psychotics tailored for their augmentation, facing stonewalling from ONI and the UNSC whenever they tried legal ways. Someone wanted them to go insane, an excuse to put them all down and close that chapter of the UNSC's history.

So, Shark team was forced to acquire these meds illegally and a _platoon_ of SPARTAN-IVs were sent to stop them. The platoon was found an hour later by another force, sent as backup when they failed to report. No casualties, but they had all been stripped of their armors and locked in a medical freezer with a simple message from Shark leader to Admiral Ossman:

"Thanks for the new threads, bitch."

A lot of her boys felt sore over that defeat, some might look for payback against Orca.

Ronda had been in Astral when Orca deployed there, she hadn't met them face to face, but the tales of their heroic stand, keeping Covenant away from refugees and setting that proto-gravemind on fire, were still whispered alongside Master Chief's accomplishments.

Another Spartan stepped forward, Amberly, Cyan team's sharpshooter, "Any idea what ONI wants with doc Farkas?"

"Intel says she was instrumental to _Infinity's_ construction, but recently ran off without permission… We intercepted a transmission from a freighter, the _Themopylae_, owned by Orca, revealing that she had entered in contact with a splinter Covenant faction."

"What for?"

"That's what we'd like to know."

The Spartans kept quiet after that, trying to understand why this woman could possibly be chatting up the covies. Money? Revenge? Some fuck-weird fetish?

Ronda had not the slightest clue herself, but she would ask.

00000

**-[July 2556]-**

**-[Pluto's Orbit]-**

**-[****UNSC Frigate **_**Hammer of Reach**_**]-**

**-[Bridge]-**

"Rex… Where is it?" Ronda was not amused, not at all.

There had been no slipspace ruptures detected near Pluto since the Covenant vessel had left, clearly, the _Thermopylae _had not gone back to Earth, so _where_ was it?

"Unknown, Commander. Please hold…" The holographic Legionnaire spoke, softly.

Rex, as his name indicated, had been pumped out a week prior. Eleventh generation AI with infiltration and Cyber-warfare suites surpassing any piece of UNSC or Covenant hardware.

Yet it failed to detect a single freight vessel?

Ronda punched the alarm, "All hands, battle station, be ready to repel boarding actions!" She turned to the CIC staff, "Prep all weapons!"

"Sir!" Ensign Jackson, in charge of comms, rose from his seat, apparently to protest.

"Can it! They've got the drop on us, as long as we can't see them, I want this ship on high alert!"

"Commander," The man insisted, "I have them on tight beam…"

It felt as though a thousand pounds were removed from her shoulders. "On screen."

A conform copy of the Master Chief appeared on the main screen. It was silent for a moment, watching something for a moment before speaking, its soft but commanding voice distorted by statics, "_Hammer of Reach_, this is Iona, Captain of the _Thermopylae,_ must I consider your behavior as an aggression?"

Rex's spear glowed brighter as he piggybacked the transmission to its source, pinpointing the freighter's position.

"_Not yet."_ Mouthed the AI's avatar, inciting Ronda to keep Iona talking.

"Apologies, Captain, reports indicate Covenant presence in the area." A half truth, better than the full thing or an outright lie.

"Your reports are accurate." Such honesty took the SPARTAN-IV aback and she simply listened to the SPARTAN-III's explanation, "We traded humanitarian supplies for a Covenant FTL drive on behalf of our current employer, would you like to clear this up with her?"

Rex's spear stopped shining and he smiled. Found them.

But that would not be necessary; Orca proved perfectly willing to cooperate.

"It would be much appreciated, Captain Iona, providing docking instructions…" Rex's smile widened, annoying the Commander into paying the AI a second of attention. "What?"

Iona, in the screen, remained perfectly immobile, the only sign she was not a picture being the changes in illumination, going from dark red lights to pure white.

Rex stood at attention, like a parading legionnaire, and reported the _joke_.

"They're already docked, Bay fourteen."

Iona spoke next, not giving Ronda any time to get angry or question the AI, "I'm sending two of my men to escort her, small arms and Powered Assault Armors, is this acceptable?"

Two S-IIIs, fully armored and heavily armed, on her ship? No fucking way. "Afraid I can't allow that, Captain. The UNSC takes full responsibility for the safety of your passenger, I cannot allow private contractors to walk around this ship armed to the teeth…"

Rex cringed, _"Private contractors?"_

"She's my responsibility," Iona sounded unfazed, as if she were bargaining for free extra bacon on her Pizza, "Protection is part of our fee, where she goes, my security officer follows."

The Commander thought this one through under Rex's amused gaze. Iona held all the cards; they were docked already, within the _Hammer_'s shields and outfitted with the most expensive MJOLNIR variants ever produced. Rex and the _Hammer_'s armament were Ronda's only advantages, but if the _Pylae_ could cloak and possessed Covenant FTL engines…

"_Officer_, you mean just one man?" A compromised felt like the best course of action.

"Yes."

"How about you send Doctor Farkas and your security officer, unarmed." Iona was silent for half a minute, then bobbed her helmet forward once.

"Unarmed, but fully suited, he stays with the Doctor every step of the way as escort and legal advisor, any action infringing on these tasks will be considered a direct aggression and prompt retaliation."

Ronda didn't need a picture, what Iona really meant was _'No funny business or I'll come over and smack the stupid out of you with a ballpoint hammer.'_

"Acceptable."

What else _could _she answer? These guys had nuked a whole city rather than try to understand what the fuck was happening.

0

0

0

**-[July 2556]-**

**-[Pluto's Orbit]-**

**-[****Spartan-class Freighter **_**Thermopylae**_**]-**

**-[Cargo Area]-**

No clue why I can't bring my MA5, maybe they think I'm harmless without a gun.

If I need a gun, that means people are shooting at me, if people are shooting at me, they have guns, if they have guns…

Let me put it that way; I'm not old, I have no problem with bending over to collect items dropped by other _dead_ people.

Farkas doesn't share my confidence.

Clad in her skin tight jumpsuit, her data pad clutched like a teddy bear, she shakes like a buggy AI.

"Something you didn't tell us about, Doc?" I mutter over the hiss of equalizing pressure.

She shakes her head slowly, "I… Not willingly. I worked on an ONI project for some time, but we didn't… They wanted to restrict access to some of the higher level tech we recovered; I want to make it widespread…"

Can't see ONI throwing a fit over a researcher trying to help humanity… Actually, who knows what ONI does? My only dealings with them was through EVA, when they asked us to say specific things during a mission or to mingle a bit more. Fuckwits.

"Nothing to worry about, they probably got scared by the Unngoy ship entering Sol."

Her nod is unconvinced.

I open the hatch once we're pressurized and… Damn this looks familiar!

When I crashed on Omega Astralis, ALAS troopers hurried to shove their metal dicks in my face like overeager porn actors. The SPARTAN-IVs do the exact same thing, only with budget.

We're docked on a hangar bay, a wide area meant for pelicans and Longswords, only too low of ceiling for a _Bison_ class freighter, meaning Abby had 'dock', which is fancy talk for saying squeeze the _'Pylae_'s nose in the hangar, hold position with magnetic clamps while half the ship is hanging in space and let the _Hammer_'s brand new force fields keep the place pressurized.

I climb out first, taking in the sight. Five new models, two girls, three guys. Three within spitting distance, two within throwing distance… By that, I mean close enough to throw the first three at the last two.

Rising to my full height, I show them both my hands, then spin on the spot, so they can see I'm not packing any heat.

Bullshit, my suit alone is enough heat to glass a small town.

"Where's the Doctor?" A girl asks, to my right. I still have enough artillery pointed at me to bring down a Hunter pair.

The hatch slams shut and I lean on it. "She stays in there until the area is secure."

A guy to the left replies, "It is! Quit screwing around!"

What do you want me to say? I wait for them to get the hint. Maybe they do, or maybe someone's holding their hands through secure comms, but they stand down and we're speaking the same language again. Two short knocks get the hatch open again and I help the doc climb out.

The guy on my left takes a step toward her, but freezes at the sight of my visor snapping his way.

"Geez, son," He scoffs, "ease up, I just need to ID her." That's a scanner he's holding alright, almost the type you find in a grocery store.

He takes my silence for an approbation and scans the doc's carotid.

Sub-dermal implants? What was she, ONI's employee or their pet?

"Confirmed." He calls, turning to me with a smug expression. I don't need to see his face, I grew up around people in full body armor. "If you would please follow us."

A nod gets them moving. They lead us out of the hangar bay and through a set of crammed corridors, all bulkheads sealed along our way, both to prevent escape and keep my sonar from mapping their whole ship.

EVA can't snatch their blueprints, infiltration isn't her forte as much as strategy, politics and diplomacy. As a smart AI, she can do a lot of things, but she's not top of the line anymore, not to mention she never was when it comes to decryption.

Abe doesn't have that problem, but she works slow and can't seem to find intel about this new frigate model.

Basically, I'm on my own.

We take an elevator up, the Fours squeezing in like office workers late for lunch. No splitting up? They're willing to risk me shanking a couple of them if it means the rest can take me down… Interesting.

The elevator opens on dull gray and the words **Detention Center** stenciled on the rightmost wall.

"Detention?" I speak, summoning my inner lawyer, "Is my client under arrest?"

I swear, that guy with the scanner wants to take my head off. He shows too much emotions, doesn't have nearly enough restraint.

I'm not above anger, far from it, but to the point of shaking and clenching my fists? No way. Cold rage gets the job done, unrestrained anger just makes you look stupid.

A girl answers, "No, sir, we simply have no other facilities suited for a debriefing…"

Come on, try harder! "You debrief your own troops in an interrogation cell?"

"We have a meeting room, but it would take us through the CIC and you are not authorized to access that level."

Getting there. We're all still squeezed in the elevator, the doc and I at the back, meaning they can't shove us out. "As you wish, but if my client needs to use the bathrooms and I find a single locked door in her way…"

"The door's going, we get it, can we carry on?"

I'm enjoying this too much… "Of course, lead the way."

They're not broadcasting IFF… Or, if they are, not broadcasting it to me, so I don't know any of their names.

The room they take us to is the usual cliché; one way mirror, hard chairs, an unbreakable table square in the middle and cameras in every corner.

The doc sits at the table and I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and every sensor cranked just high enough not to become a nuisance.

Another SPARTAN-IV walks in, fully suited and armed like she's about to board a Covenant cruiser.

Orca wears Mk VII MJOLNIR suits, the new models are issued something that looks like SPI armors, with soft undersuit and lighter plates, but behaves like a MJOLNIR, shields and all. I'm not privy to the fine details of this new program, but if you ask me, they tried to cheapen Ambrose's work even further.

Soon, they'll pluck people off the street, augment them and call them Spartans!

She talks with the doc, but EVA, Abby and Iona are already leeching my feed, analyzing every detail, so I let them bore themselves half to death and keep tracking every potential threat from the guise of being bored out of my mind.

I know I'm rough to the new guys, they were ODSTs and Marines, they deserve the same gear we got, but there's a line between bringing them to our level and calling them Spartans.

A Spartan is not just augmented meat in a flashy suit, I suffered through hell and beyond for the right to call myself that, I worked my ass off to learn Doctorate-level physics, science, medicine and engineering, traded sweat, tears and blood for every gram of muscle.

Everything I know about combat was learned both from seeing vids and first hand, from seeing my best friend get capped by what I thought was a sniper to busting comrades I hated from an _Insurrectionist_ warship.

These guys were trained, sure, but can they refit a Longsword? Or even fly one? Can they rig a FTL drive into a bomb? What's their accuracy rating? Mine's a hundred percent at any range, with any weapon, in any condition, and Bob's better.

Maybe the Twos felt the same about us, cheap knockoffs, an insult, or maybe I'm just being a bigoted bastard.

"Chris," EVA wakes me up, "challenge the interrogator, Naval Command."

She doesn't mean to a duel, EVA wants me to ask a coded question and see if she provides the right response code.

"Excuse me, ma'am." Her pointed helmet snaps my way, "What time is it on Sigma Octanus?"

The codes are updated randomly, but Abe keeps digging them out anyway, as a mean to stay in the loop…

Speaking of which, the right answer is '_Looping Time'._

"Wha… How the hell should I know?"

"Apologies." And I lean back on the door frame. She hesitates for a second before resuming the interrogation.

The ship AI didn't know the proper response, or it would have provided it to her. This may be a naval warship, but whoever sent it doesn't answer to Lord Admiral Hood.

"We can't access any of its systems," Iona announces, "the ship sent a single tight beam transmission and it was directed to Mars, not Earth…"

Mars… What's on Mars? Nothing that I know of, the Covenant bombed everything there. Who were they talking to?"

Iona's instruction is refreshingly simple: "Find out."

The doc is in the middle of explaining where she got the funds to hire us when I step over to the table. "Name, rank and current assignment, Spartan."

The other stops and seems to talk with someone else over internal comms. The answer comes half a minute after the question, "Classified."

"Who does this ship answer to?" First question was meant for her to feel like she owes me at least some explanations, this is the real one.

"Classified." Predictable. The ship's smart AI is assisting her. I could ask EVA to help me as well, but I've got this well under control.

"Classified? By who? SPECWAR is out of the game, as evidenced by my presence in the private sector." She shakes her helmet, but I'm not done, not by a long shot.

"You failed to answer my earlier challenge properly, meaning you're not operating under the UN Space Command…" Don't look that smug, bitch, I'm only getting started!

"The UEG doesn't have authority to classify anything, so we can forget that, which makes you ONI. The doctor's working on Slip space tech, but if you'd been Prowler Corps, you'd have known the counter-code." Ah, yes, getting hot in here, isn't it?

"So, you're Spartans, operating directly under ONI, sent to recover a runaway scientist for some shady project you most likely don't know the first thing about… Have you been instructed to abduct or kill Doctor Farkas?"

Please, bitch, tell me it's classified… "No…"

"Ah, but you have not arrested her nor tried to bring her back home, so you want this off the record. Why?"

The other Spartan is perfectly still, almost as if her armor suddenly locked down. EVA feeds me a summary of the debriefing I kind of missed out on and, sure enough, she's asking questions for the form, circular, pointless shit about her work, meant to win some time.

"I cannot…" A fuck this.

"I know you can't, Spartan, it was a rhetorical question. Here's another; Do you really think your friends on Mars will give you the advantage here?"

"What are you talking about?" She doesn't know. She's not in charge here, not even high up in the succession line, just a lamb sent to the slaughter, a sacrifice to keep us docile while… What? A cruiser comes and force us to cooperate?

Nah, firepower isn't the issue here, they need something with sensors, a Prowler or patrol boat.

"Your friends called a Prowler from Mars," I can see they're bringing her up to speed at the same time I do, "it's already in orbit, only on the wrong side. Given Pluto's mass and the New Prowler's acceleration…"

1.30900 × 1022 kilograms for a circumference of two-thousand and three hundred kilometers at a velocity of… By now, somewhere around a hundred kilometers per second… Compensating for gravitational pull and avoiding a slingshot effect, as to not overload their cloaking systems…

EVA could calculate this for me, but that would be cheating. I want the interrogator to understand, her bosses too, that these new models can't hold a candle to real Spartans.

"They'll be here in two minutes and twenty four seconds." While I'm counting, might as well make something else clear, "How many are on board this ship? Thirty SPARTAN-IVs, two hundred crew members… They'll be here in time to rescue seventy-three of this vessel's staff, should the termination order come prematurely…"

She stiffens, her hand freezing as it were about to fetch the M6H in its thigh holster.

"Which it already did. And you cannot disobey a direct order from ONI, can you? Thing is, while we were busy talking this over, my friend Abby was bypassing your AI's firewalls. You see, I'm currently doing the same thing you just did; buying time."

Old reflexes come charging back and she pressed two fingers to an ear piece that isn't there. Too late, Abe just sent me the magic words:

"Puris Rubicon." Rex's in-built failsafe sends him in hibernation and EVA takes full control of the ship's systems within the next second. A few shots from the _Hammer_'s Point Defense Guns will wreck the shit out of the Prowler's sensors as soon as it shows itself and every bulkhead in the ship seals itself.

"Doctor Farkas," I announce, holding the door for her, "if you have no objections, we are done here."

See, being a Spartan is about more that being a giant walking tank, it's also about being a massive douchebag.


	10. Chapter 3: A House Divided

**A/N: Now, it's been a long time, hasn't it? I've finally re-read this whole story and though the urge to burn it down and rewrite it from the ground up was nagging me every step of the way, I have convinced myself not to do it because I want to drive the plot forward and this will make for a good reference of how much I've improved in the last five years or so.**

**First, because it's been so long and because I wasn't all that great at conveying coherent characterization back then, let me re-introduce the cast. The ones with * next to their names are those who fit Halsey's genetic profile for the Spartan-IIs.**

**Chris-G051, our protagonist, outwardly silent most of the time and inwardly poking fun at just about any life or death situation because he just won't die. If there's gruesome shit about to happen, it'll happen to Chris, he's got the worse luck of any Spartans so far. Though he's skilled at just about everything, he has no leadership skills whatsoever and very little social awareness, but his team is always there to back him up and he has these lost-puppy eyes and adorable clumsiness that also gets random strangers to fight by his side.**

***Trevor-G186, the big brother, already one of the oldest members of Orca, he has spent the least time in Cryo-sleep and the most time hanging around marines and crewmen, making him the most socially adjusted member of Team Orca, and the only one to drink and smoke. That mundane aspect is offset by the man being 251 centimeters tall… That's eight foot tree, out of armour. Not the tallest man in history, not even close when you consider all the Spartan-IIs out there, but big enough for his muscle mass to rival that of a jiralhanae, a Brute. Trevor is mostly harmless and as close to a pacifist as you can be when you've been a warrior for as long as you remember, but he's also very protective of his team and will beat you to death with your own skull if you threaten them.**

***Iona-G117, if Trevor's the big brother, Iona's the big sister… Or more like president. Orca isn't a democracy, but Iona tries to find a middle ground between its colourful members and no one ever disputes her decision, except Bob, occasionally, but even he never openly challenges G117's authority, not because she's a tactical mastermind, which she is, but because everyone recognizes that Orca needs a leader and the only other candidates for the job are Chris and Fal; the former is as awkward as a newborn kitten and the latter suffers from occasional psychotic breaks. Not much is known about Iona, not even by her team mates, but it has been hinted she comes from a military family and knew about the Spartan program before being enlisted.**

***Fal-G317, the daughter of an abusive father and only member of Orca to use a **_**sword**_**. Not just energy swords; Fal alternates between claymores, katanas, gladius and scimitars, her suit is unique as well, being an Hayabusa model, the first privately manufactured powered armour ever produced. Fal is the fastest member of Orca team and second fastest human being, after Kelly-087. Why she chose to wear an Hayabusa armour, which favours strength over speed, remains a mystery to her team mates, but the truth is that Fal likes the look and is fast enough to afford being slowed down a bit. Some think her stupid, being the team's CQB expert and not much of a tactician, but Fal still has the knowledge to argue quantum physics with Stephen Hawkins, perform a heart transplant and fix a Shaw-Fugikawa drive **_**simultaneously**_**… She just thinks all of this is utterly boring. Oh, and she painted her armour pure white, so it will get recolored by the blood of her enemies every mission.**

**Bob-123… Every member of Orca team is protective of the others, but Bob takes it to an all new level; hacking the bank account of Fal's abusive father and the UNSC requisition order so his team would get access to restricted gear instead of generic MJOLNIR suits and injuring Abejundio so she would not reveal Chris' possible Flood infestation, which is just what we see of him, because there's a lot more of it. Bob is Orca team's Black Operator, the puppeteer that kept them out of harm's way when their leader, too patriotic for her own good, would not question orders. He rarely speaks out directly against Iona, but goes to town when it comes to criticizing the chain of command. When not being a manipulative bastard, Bob is generally quite friendly and will offer some snarky remarks on the weather before mechanically drilling holes through the craniums of every hostiles unlucky enough not to be over the horizon. And that's only because the UNSC won't let him use the Hubble telescope to spot targets.**

**Abejundio-G225, unlike Fal, is not such a great fighter but knows enough about medicine, physics, engineering and philosophy to temporarily replace a Smart AI, if need be. Her only shortcoming when compared to artificial intelligence is that she needs to sleep. Abby is the anonymous author of hundreds of scientific articles, half a dozen musical plays and the only person to ever convert an obsolete cargo freighter into a functional stealth ship within hours. She spends so much time on her own, reading, writing and theorizing, that she sometimes seems like an outsider to the others. One moment she is quiet, professional and focused, the next she's singing a manga's theme song and hacking into public transport grids to re-organize the pathways and cause everyone on a colony to show up late for work. This instability and her low fighting skills make Orca reluctant to bring her on the line of fire, although she is marginally more reliable that ODSTs or marines.**

**Army SpecWar Group 3, SPARTAN III Program, Gamma Company, Fifth Platoon, Orca Team, usually shortened as Orca or Team Orca, is a six member fireteam of what was believed to be sub-par Spartan recruits, considered either too mentally unstable or physically inferior to complete training, but they proved to be uniquely adept at working together, facing very little conflict and complementing each other's skills perfectly. Though its individual members were perceived to be unfit for the Headhunters and SpecWar duty, their success rate placed them, as a unit, well above most of Gamma Company. When Section II requested a dedicated team for propaganda and moral boosting purposes, Orca was the only team to fit the bill. They fought on highly mediatised battles, always with extensive support and the best gear available, that is, until the Covenant found Earth, at which point propaganda became rather irrelevant and Orca was requested, as one of the last Spartan team, for so many high-priority assignments HighCom had to hold a lottery to decide where the team would be sent.**

**Three years after the end of the Human/Covenant war, after much clean up operations and the Spartan IV program was created, all active Spartan IIIs were assimilated into the SIV ****before a government order forced all SPARTAN units prior to the fourth generation to be disbanded and banned from military service. Orca and all members of Gamma Company were not integrated into the fourth generation because unspecified psychological issues. **

**888888**

The interrogator pulls her pistol and points it at me. In the corridor, two more Spartan-IVs are waiting for us, MA5s locked and loaded. I can see the bullets down all three barrels.

"Sergeant," goes the interrogator, "this is an official ONI assignment, the doctor is suspected of treason and theft of UNSC assets, we cannot allow her to leave this ship."

I turn around slowly, until I'm facing the interrogation cell. Farkas looks ready to shit herself, as does the interrogator. Iona dictates my answer word-for-word, "Until you have an arrest warrant and my client has proper legal representation, this _official ONI assignment_ is, for all intents and purpose, an act of piracy, and I will respond with deadly force to any further attempts at holding us captive."

Then I turn around once again, facing the two IVs still guarding the door. "Don't get me wrong," I add, crossing my arms, "we don't want trouble with the UNSC, but if Farkas is half as smart as she seems and you people turn out to be Innies… I really don't want to see terrorist ships leave slipspace in the middle of major population centers. Tell your bosses to get their heads out of their asses and get the proper documentation, then we can safely turn her in and everyone gets what they want."

They hesitate. I see the interrogator lower her weapon, looking thoughtful although I know full well she's actually listening to instructions being whispered in her ear by the real boss.

One of the two Spartans outside stows his assault rifle, muttering "Fuck this!" as he steps forward, apparently intent to take me on in close combat. His pal tries to stop him, but gets brushed aside as the idiot basically makes my day.

He swings a right hook, going for my armoured face. The strike is fast and precise and I get just enough time to snicker before batting the arm away with an opened hand. In one fluid motion, I spin on the spot so that my back is scraping his chest plate, grab his wrist with my right hand and headbutt him. The next move is not as elaborate; I rear one foot under his center of mass back my left elbow into his guts three times in a split-second and, simultaneously backing away and pulling his arm down, throw him over my shoulder.

While the idiot is airborne, I debate breaking his arm, decide against it and instead twist so he lands face first, at which point my gauntlet-mounted plasma dagger flickers to life and I punch it into the floor right next to the IV's head.

"Chris!" Iona's mad at me, so I get off the Spartan and stand down. Surprisingly, there isn't a single gun aimed at my face right now. MJOLNIR armour changes all the rules, makes physical threats pointless, even more so when the wearer is a brainwashed motherfucker that could not give two shit about death even if he thought he could actually die.

They do call me Zombie.

Nobody does anything for a while, except the guy I just wacked; he sits up, trying to figure out what just happened. The urge to kick him in the face is strong, his helmet being in the perfect spot for it, but I fight it off and focus on keeping the situation together. We've won, we could slaughter everyone on board right now and all parties involved know that, except maybe the guy on the floor, but victory isn't always so simple.

What happens when the UNSC finds out about this? Because even Abby can't sweep a whole frigate under the rug… That's why I'm not just powering through these toy soldiers and why they're not opening fire at me. Iona, EVA and Abby are talking things through on the 'pylae, leaving me silent and motionless, same as everyone else, while we wait for something to happen.

We're all surprised when Bob uncloaks, sitting on the table with a chatter in his hand. He doesn't have his helmet on, so we all see him smile at the interrogator as he hands her the communication device as casually as if they were passing a joint. "Oi, someone wants to talk to you."

It all happens quickly; her shoulder slump as she holds the chatter to her helmet. Whoever's talking to her is both displeased and high-ranked, a dangerous combination… Seriously, how many time have you heard those three words? _A dangerous combination._ Look, after a thirty years' war, the insurrections and the UNSC's martial law, if something's not dangerous, then it's dead.

The interrogator says two words, "Yes, sir…" and we're being led back to the 'pylae in a hurry, as though the doctor's about to explode or something. I try to apologise for being a bit of an asshole back there, but they slam the freighter's hatch behind me and _run _out of the hangar.

Alone in the airlock with Bob and Farkas, I turn to the former and explode, "What the _fuck_ was that!?" Farkas stands between us, hyperventilating with both hands on her knees… Then Abby takes us to slipspace and the doc gets thrown against the ramp.

"Called in a few favours." Is all he tells me, leaning down to help the doc back to her feet.

Before I can question him further, Iona unlocks the inner hatch, just as clueless as I am, and asks the same question I just did, only with more class.

"Look," he says, raising his hands defensively, "they called me, 'kay? Army intelligence, HighCom, the bloody pope, I don't know who it was."

Iona and I trade a glance and she does the questioning from now on, "Called you? When?" We stay in the airlock, because Iona's standing in the way, looking angry, and I'm not going close to her when she's angry, it's unhealthy.

"After Astral. Classified ops, outside the regular UNSC hierarchy, too sensitive for Headhunters… Can't go into details, you know the drill." Bob's got that face he gets when playing poker and killing people; halfway between friendly and bored.

"So…" I clear my throat, realizing something, "There were no girlfriends? All these weekends, you were actually going on covert operations?" Iona fixes me with a glare. I never told her about Bob sneaking away from time to time because I did the same on occasion, to hit the nearest town, meet some people, gather intel on civilian life, have _fun_. Nothing wrong with it, is there?

He just shrugs, "Sorry, mate, I can neither confirm nor deny that…"

You know what scares me? He always went out dressed in civilian clothes, not in his armour. Whatever he was doing on these ops didn't involve killing covies, but it did require him to blend in a crowd.

We're Spartans, we don't let feelings get in the way, but Iona's obviously displeased at this revelation. Still, she steps out of the way, unreadable in her armour. Usually I can pick up little signs that tell me what my teammates are thinking, but Iona's not showing anything. She leaves the cargo hold without a word.

Farkas shuffles off as well, leaving me alone with Bob. His smile melts away when I pull off my helmet. "What?" He asks, as if it were ambiguous.

"Why didn't you tell us? Don't give me that classified crap, there's…" How to put that? "We don't hide _anything_ from other Orcas! That's how it's always been!"

He shakes his head, "Nah-nanah! Don't feed me your bullocks about being part of a team and working together, mate, you more than anyone know sometimes you need to keep the others in the dark sometimes, for their sake, so piss off! I wasn't given a choice, a'right? Wouldn't have done any good for you to worry about me all the time."

Bob's been my friend for as long as I can remember, if he says he did what he thought best for everyone, then that's precisely what he did and to question him further would do nothing but strain our relationship. "I trust you." I finally say, with a short nod, "And the others will come around, but I've got to ask…"

He knows what I'm thinking and smiles, "That was a one-time deal, there's no guarantee my buddy's gonna help us out next time, so don't count on that."

Would have been nice to have some form of insurance… Hell, we don't even know if Bob's contact had enough weight to get ONI to back down for good or if they'll come back later. "Oh well," I step through the hatch and he follows me, "what are we eating tonight?"

"What? I dunno, who's cooking?"

He steps on the right elevator, the one that leads directly to the dormitories, but I shove him off, pointing to the other lift. "You are."

"What? Since when?" He looks at the elevator, then back at me. Bob hates cooking.

"Since five minutes ago, you know, when Iona found out I'd been covering up for you?" His wide eyed confusion is delicious to behold…

"Nuh-uh, I cooked yesterday, you can't make me do it twice in a row…"

"Bob," my voice is calm, my tone even, "if you don't get your ass in that kitchen and at the very least fix a sandwich for everyone, I will slap you like an abusive husband."

Resigned, he walks over to the left lift. "I want a divorce…" He mutters, quite audible to my augmented ears.

"Bitch, if you leave me I'll keep the kids and the house and you'll be out in the street with your stupid dog."

He snickers a bit at that, the two elevators rising simultaneously as he thinks about a comeback. "You've changed, Chris," He eventually calls, "What happened to the man I married, who would bring me high powered rifles and expensive scopes?"

As much as I'd like to have an in-character reply for that, my knowledge of abusive relationships doesn't go that far, so I just tell him to get his ass in the kitchen ASAP and not forget my beer.

The last thing I see of him before he climbs into Hydro is his gloved hand flipping me the bird.


End file.
